


Roads Go On

by starlightwalking



Series: Modern Middle-earth [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, Computer Viruses, Gen, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: When Legolas struck out on his own, he'd thought he could work his way up to stardom in the normal way. Now, stuck on an endless road trip with his irritating neighbor Gimli, his college roommate Aragorn, four hobbit hitchhikers, a wizard, and Boromir, the stranger that got all of them into this mess, he's worried that his only shot at fame is a grisly demise at the hands of mind-controlled orcs. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to try and fight against Barad-dûr, Inc., no matter what CEO Mairon is up to...





	1. An Orc in Dale

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to Roads Go On!  
> technically, this fic is a prequel to the other stories in my Modern Middle-earth AU, but it will focus less on the arospec stuff and more on retelling the Lord of the Rings in a weird semi-modern, semi-magical way. Gigolas will feature prominently and I'll definitely leave their relationship up to interpretation for everyone, regardless if you see them as queerplatonic or not. The other fics in this series are not required to understand this one.  
> As is, I've planned for this fic to reach about 20 chapters (ending at about the same time as my other new fic, Moonlight). I'd like to update it biweekly, but we'll see.  
> This will be kind of a slow build in terms of plot, but I promise we'll get into the action as soon as possible! Still, it might be a few chapters before the Fellowship is entirely assembled. I'm shifting things around to fit into this universe the best I can, and some stuff might get left out or entirely re-interpreted. I hope you enjoy my take on it!

Legolas locked the door to his apartment, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Six in the morning was too early for anyone to be up and about, especially him. After sixty years of seven a.m. classes at Imladris University, all he wanted was to sleep in. True, he had spent most of his time in college loafing around campus with his friends, and perhaps his memories of such early rising were somewhat exaggerated, but it didn't make his current situation any more pleasant.

But despite his five degrees and royal heritage, the best job he could manage to find now that he'd moved to Dale was a barista gig at a second-rate coffee shop. It might have helped to put those qualifications on his resume while applying, but he was far too modest. He had arrived in this city without experience and without connections, and he was barely scraping by.

Still, this is what he had wanted. A life unreliant on his father's power and money, a life that would give him ample background to draw from when he truly began his acting career.

"Theater is life," his acting professor had professed. Legolas took this lesson to heart, and went out into the wide world to live the unsheltered life he'd never had in the Greenwood.

But he didn't feel very alive right now, exhausted from a long shift the night before and stumbling right back to Bowman's Brew for another day's work. It was days like this that he missed home, but nothing would send him crawling back to his father. College had been a place of self-discovery out of Thranduil's shadow; now it was time for him to cast his own light. Or at least, kickstart the process.

Legolas shoved his keys back into his pocket and yawned loudly as he started down the sidewalk. It was still dark, and the winter chill clung to his jacket; his breath billowed from his mouth like a dragon's fire. He thanked the Valar that his elven body was unaffected by the elements, and pitied the dwarves and men of Dale who had to bundle up to stay warm.

He heard a huff behind him and the sound of heavy boots crunching frosty turf. Legolas sighed, bracing himself for what he knew would come next. He lengthened his stride, hoping that would be enough of a hint that it was far too early to talk, but...

"Good morning, neighbor!" a voice said at his elbow.

A reluctant smile twitched on his lips as Legolas nodded to the dwarf at his side. "Ah, Gimli. What an...unexpected surprise."

"On your way to work, I suppose?" Gimli said cheerily. "Mind if I accompany you? I do need my caffeine."

"I'm sure you know what my answer is." Legolas sighed. He would rather walk alone, but had long since resigned himself to Gimli's morning company.

"Excellent," Gimli said. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to show your teeth once and awhile. I bet you've got a lovely smile."

"I am smiling," Legolas said. He stretched his lips, exposing his teeth to the cold morning air. "See?"

"That's a grimace if I ever saw one," Gimli said. "Be genuine! I know how much you enjoy my company." He elbowed Legolas with a hearty guffaw.

Legolas didn't bother to laugh. "I don't know why you insist on befriending me."

"I like to be on good terms with all my neighbors," Gimli said. "You only live two doors down from me, and you work at my favorite coffee shop! Maybe you'll give me a discount one of these days."

Legolas snorted. "Fat chance."

"If it's fat it's big." Gimli smirked. "And that's better than none."

With mixed relief and disappointment, Legolas saw Bowman's Brew on the corner. Soon he'd be able to serve Gimli his coffee and send him on his way, ending their awkward interaction until next morning.

"Mmm, I can already smell it!" Gimli said. "Alright, actor-boy, are you ready to whip me up a latte?"

"How did you find out about my acting career?" Legolas asked.

"I wouldn't call it a 'career'..." Gimli chuckled.

"Well? How?" Legolas demanded.

"Same way you found out about my aspirations for a fashion career." Gimli raised an eyebrow. "Facescroll. Your entries go  _way_  back."

"I'm an elf, what did you expect?" Legolas rolled his eyes. "I remember when Facescroll was invented." It was within the past sixty years, thankfully  _after_ he fell out with his father. He didn't want his family dirt all over the internet for all to see. He didn't really want his drunk college posts there, either, but those were less painful even if they were more embarrassing.

"Yeah, the outfit in your profile picture is proof of that," Gimli said, wrinkling his nose. "You really ought to listen when I give you fashion advice. I know what I'm talking about."

"You were stalking my college social media?" Legolas demanded, ignoring the insult.

"You updated it two days ago, I wouldn't exactly call it 'stalking'," Gimli pointed out. "Besides, you did the same to me."

Legolas only shrugged, not having enough strength to argue. "Fine, whatever."

Gimli stopped in front of him, crossing his arms. "Why don't you like me, Legolas?"

"I don't... _hate_  you," Legolas said. It was true; Gimli may be irritating but he had never done anything to make Legolas despise him. There was just something about him that was off-putting, and he didn't enjoy his company.

Legolas looked over Gimli's head with a vague anxiety. "You're making me late, you know."

"Is this just your elvish charm, then?" Gimli shook his head. "I'm trying to be your friend."

"Try harder tomorrow." Legolas walked around him. "And  _not_  while I'm on the job."

"Alright, sweetheart!" Gimli called, only two steps behind him.

Legolas rolled his eyes, his back turned. There wasn't any point in trying to reason with him.

He walked into work, sliding into his morning routine. He greeted his coworkers, then got down to business. He served Gimli first, as always, pointedly ignoring any remarks thrown his way. Slowly, other customers began to trickle in and distract him.

Gimli sat on his laptop in the corner for an hour, as he usually did. Legolas paid him no mind, busy with his job.

At seven a.m. precisely, the door to Bowman's Brew burst open. Legolas didn't look up from serving a customer, even as the rest of the shop came to a standstill to stare at the newcomer. He encountered weird people every day in this job, and not just Gimli.

"Can I get, a, uh..." rasped the newcomer. "I don't...I dunno...some coffee, I guess."

"Here you go," Legolas said, handing a cup of coffee to the customer. They started from staring, grabbed their coffee, and then hurried out the door.

Legolas looked up. A large human man stood in the doorway, bearing a scruffy beard and a black eye. He wore a large puffy jacket emblazoned with a familiar logo: the blazing red eye of Barad-dûr, Inc.

The reason why everyone stared was apparent: he was huge, bigger than any other human in Dale. He must come from the same stock as Legolas's college roommate Aragorn, who was similarly large in stature.

But there was something else about him that Legolas couldn't quite place, something that was just— _off_. Maybe it was his rat's nest of hair, or the wildness in his eyes. Maybe it was the t-shirt that he wore inside out and backwards beneath the jacket.

"Good morning, sir," he greeted him. "I can take your order when you're ready."

The man nodded, stepping up to the counter. "What are y'all looking at?" he asked gruffly, turning his head to the watching crowd.

The coffee shop burst back into its hum of activity, everyone trying their hardest not to stare. Only one person continued a careful study of the newcomer: Gimli. He observed him with half-closed eyes, stroking his red beard thoughtfully.

When Legolas caught his eye, Gimli winked and returned to his work. Disgusted, Legolas shook his head and looked back to the newcomer.

"I haven't tried any of these local brews," he said. "I guess, uh...get me your favorite."

Legolas sighed. "That'll be difficult. I've been working here too long to enjoy anything." But he turned and began to whip up something simple and caffeinated. "What name should I put for the order?"

"Boromir," the newcomer said.

"That'll be $2.74," Legolas said.

Boromir reached into his jacket, then paused as he didn't find what he was looking for. He frowned, trying a different pocket.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Must've left it in the truck. I'll be back."

He turned and wandered out the door, throwing it open just as forcefully as he had on the way in. One of Legolas's coworkers, a stout dwarven woman whose name he had forgotten, muttered under her breath about weird customers, and he agreed.

"Odd fella," Gimli remarked. He had approached the register again and leaned on the counter. "Who doesn't have their coffee order memorized?"

"You'd be surprised," Legolas said. "If customer service has taught me anything, it's that people are idiots. You are no exception."

"Ouch!" Gimli laughed. "Anyway, did you see that logo? Barad-dûr, Inc. That is one sleazy business. Headquartered in  _Mordor._  I know Sauron is ancient history, but that place still has a bad reputation."

"If my father is to be believed, he many not have been destroyed," Legolas muttered.

"Who's your dad, some foot soldier from the war?" Gimli asked. "Just 'cuz you elves are immortal—"

Legolas bit his tongue. He didn't want anyone in his new life learning about his connections, and that included Gimli.

"Are you going to order anything else?" he asked. "You're holding up the line."

"My usual, to go." Gimli sighed. "I've got to head off."

"Thank the Valar," Legolas muttered.

"I heard that!" Gimli smirked. "Maybe I'll withhold a tip for you today, if you're going to be so rude to your customers."

"Make a complaint to the manager if you care so much," Legolas snapped.

Gimli only shrugged and walked away.

Legolas finished Boromir's order and called out his name. There was no response—he hadn't yet returned from outside.

"Where is that guy?" the dwarven woman grumbled. "Bursts in here, tracks mud on the floor, doesn't bother to pay for his drink."

"I don't know," Legolas said. He turned back to the counter and served two more customers, then called again. No response. What was taking that man so long?

"Gimli," he called. This time, that name came with a sense of relief—this meant Gimli would be out of his hair soon.

Gimli walked up to him and took the coffee from his hand. He nodded, winking cheekily, and began to say, "See you tom—" but he was cut off by a scream from outside.

Surprised, Gimli dropped the cup. Hot liquid splashed all over him, and he yelped in pain.

Legolas hissed in sympathy and hurried to grab him some napkins. "Here you go," he said, shoving them into his hands.

"Thanks," Gimli said, hurriedly trying to clean himself up. "Ugh. This shirt was designer!"

As Legolas began to wipe up the mess on the floor, the scream came again. A human woman ran into the shop, her eyes wide in terror.

"Are you alright?" Legolas called, from his position kneeling on the floor with two wet rags in his hands.

"I'm f-fine!" she stammered. "But out there—there's a—a c-creature!"

"A what?" Legolas frowned. "Hold on. I'm sorry, ma'am, I'll go deal with this."

"Better you than me," his coworker said. "I'll keep things under control here." She walked up to the counter and took another person's order. When caffeine was concerned, not even the end of times would stop the line.

"Creature?" Gimli raised an eyebrow. "That's odd. Mind if I come with?"

Legolas glanced down at him with a scowl. "Helping me does not mean you're getting a refund. You dropped that cup all on your own."

"Unlike you, I care about the people around me," Gimli quipped. "Come on."

Legolas strode ahead, using his long elven legs to outpace Gimli's stubby dwarf ones. There was more than just screams coming from the parking lot—there was the ruckus of objects being thrown about, the rumblings of a large engine, and most disturbingly, a low growling that didn't sound like it came from anything that ought to be living in Dale.

He threw the door open, ready to confront what was probably just a wild animal gone haywire, then stopped in his tracks.

In the parking lot stood a large truck emblazoned with the ominous, watching eye of Barad-dûr, Inc. It belonged to Boromir, no doubt, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, a creature hunched over the nearest lamppost, huge and gray-skinned. It had claws and ratty hair, and was drenched in sweat. The creature heaved, taking low, rasping breaths. Legolas couldn't see its face, but he recognized with alarm the tattered remains of a now too-small jacket with the same logo of the eye on its back.

"Holy shit," Gimli breathed. "An orc!"

Legolas tightened his fists, wishing desperately that he had his bow with him. But that was safe back in his apartment; he hadn't needed to use his weapons since moving to Dale. He hadn't seen or needed to deal with an orc since...

"What is an orc doing  _here_?" Legolas muttered. "This isn't Mordor—this isn't—we're not at war any longer!"

The orc turned around. It stood tall, walking on its feet unsteadily. Two large fangs jutted from its lower jaw, but its eyes are what drew Legolas's attention. They were missing the rage, the hatred, the mindless fury that characterized the spawn of Morgoth. Instead they looked...confused. Lost. And most of all, pained.

"Please," the creature rasped, speaking not in Black Speech but the common tongue. "Please—help me."


	2. Reconnaissance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2!

He could feel it in his veins, coursing through him like liquid fire. The sensation was all too familiar: his blood boiled, his heart pounded, his skin bubbled and stretched.

"No— _no_ —shit!" he growled. He fell against the inside wall of his truck, grunting as claws burst forth from his nails. "Not agai _iiinnghhrhgh_ —" His words devolved into garbled shouts as his tongue morphed into a thick black thing, filling his mouth and thrashing against his newly-sharp teeth.

Boromir stumbled out of his truck, feeling his jacket rip as his back hunched and his forearms swelled. His scalp burned as it shrunk, his hair protruding from tightened pores.

He'd been fighting the virus so well—it had been a month since his last transformation. Being on the road, away from that... _place_ , had helped. And he was so close—so damned close to getting to Rivendell. If he hadn't needed to keep up appearances and make a pitstop in Dale, he'd be there already.

But it was too late now. He was an orc in a city full of enemies, and now he had to figure out a way to hide until he could fight the virus off again.

He heard screams around him as he was spotted by customers of the coffee shop and passerbys on the street. Boromir fell over on the ground, crawling toward the nearest thing he could see to support him, a lamppost. He could feel the virus in his brain, telling him to attack, to kill, to destroy—if he could take it out on something inanimate, he could spare the lives of those around him.

Just as Boromir grabbed the lamppost, sinking his claws into its metal, he heard two people rush towards him. He looked up at them, breathing heavily as he fought to control the virus inside him.

Before him stood a red-bearded dwarf and the elven barista. They were both hunched in combat stances, but lacked any visible weapons.

"Holy shit, an orc!" whispered the dwarf.

"What is an orc doing  _here_?" the barista murmured. "This isn't Mordor—this isn't—we're not at war any longer!"

But he was wrong. At the mention of Mordor, Boromir let go of the lamppost, trembling with the effort it took to not go wild. There  _was_  a war going on, and Boromir's job as a spy had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

"Please," he begged in a voice that didn't sound like his anymore. "Please help me!"

"Help—?" said the barista, but the dwarf took a step closer to him.

"What can we do to help?" he asked, his voice low and steady. "My name's Gimli."

"I'm...this isn't, it's not me." Boromir flinched away as Gimli reached out a hand toward him.

"I'm just trying to help," Gimli said calmly.

"It's a—a virus," Boromir mumbled. "I can turn back, please, if you just—put me out."

"Out?" asked the barista.

Gimli locked eyes with him, and Boromir knew he understood. He raised his fist, and Boromir sighed in relief as he blacked out in one solid blow.

* * *

When he awoke, he was human again.

His whole body ached like it usually did after a transformation. Having his muscle and tissue and bone stretched and reconfigured twice in one day was a unique form of pain, one he wouldn't wish on anyone.

But on top of that, Boromir also had a raging headache from where Gimli had hit him. He was grateful for that—it was far better than waking up with the guilt of having hurt or killed someone—but it still hurt.

He lay sprawled across the inside of his huge cargo truck, his head propped up with an empty box from Barad-dûr Tech. Groaning, he sat up as slow as he could, careful not to pass out again from the blood rushing to his head.

"Slow down there," said Gimli. Boromir blinked, looking around. Gimli, the barista, and another unfamiliar elf in a police officer's uniform sat beside him in his truck. Boromir's laptop was open and on the officer's lap. She scrolled through his files, a frown on her face.

"Hey, that's—that's mine," he protested weakly.

She looked up, brushing a lock of red hair out of her face. "Sorry, sir. This is police business."

"Not really," the barista said. "I called you as a friend, not as a cop."

"Stop being contrary," the cop said, flicking him on the shoulder.

"So, Boromir," Gimli said. "Care to fill us in on whatever the hell just happened?"

"How long was I out?" he asked. If these people had been in his truck for long enough to root through his bags and find his laptop, what else could they have found? It wasn't too hard to hide his motivations from the goons in Mordor, but if these people were halfway intelligent...

"Only about an hour," the barista said. "I'm Legolas, by the way. This is my friend Tauriel, and that's Gimli."

"Charmed," Gimli said, putting out a hand.

Rubbing his aching head, Boromir shook it. He turned back to Tauriel. "Please, Officer, there's nothing on my laptop you'd care to see." Only state secrets from Gondor, and trade secrets from Barad-dûr. He  _thought_  he had those hidden well enough, but he didn't want to take any chances. "Care to return it? I doubt you have a warrant."

Tauriel sighed, shutting his computer. "Tell me what's going on and I'll consider it."

"It's—well, it's a long story," Boromir said. That was an understatement. "I can't tell it to just anyone, especially not to strangers. Thanks for your help, but I ought to be on my way."

"No way," Tauriel said. "I'm not going to let you go. You're a safety hazard." She gave his computer another look, then handed it back to him. "Sorry about that. I forget the rules on occasion—they're different here in Dale than they were in the Greenwood."

"I'll leave Dale," Boromir promised. "I'm on my way to Rivendell. I swear, I'll never come back here again."

"I need answers before I let that happen," Tauriel insisted. "So start talking. How are you an orc? How are you an orc  _and_  a human?"

"And what does this have to do with Barad-dûr?" Legolas added, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Boromir rubbed his forehead. "It's...complicated." He couldn't spill the whole story, no matter how much he needed help. His father trusted him.

"We've got time," Gimli said.

"Have we?" Boromir bit his lip. He had to get out of here, and fast. If he waited any longer...the transformations, while less frequent, were more intense now. Each time, he feared he'd lose control and be unable to turn back.

Tauriel flipped open a notepad. "We do. So start talking."

"I'm just a truck driver, I don't really know what's going on with Barad-dûr," he lied. "The orc thing—it's, uh...I don't know how to describe it."

"Try," Tauriel urged.

"There's a program, uh, a—" Boromir sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to keep up all of these lies. "Alright. It's a virus. Barad-dûr is distributing it with all of their technology." As soon as he said that, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Barad-dûr's secrets were out in the open; he hoped he could hold onto his father's.

"A  _virus_?" Gimli scrunched his eyebrows together. "What do you mean?"

"It's supposed to, uh,  _connect_ people to each other," Boromir said, "and especially to Mairon up in Mordor. A customer service sort of thing. At least, that's the front."

"And it turns people into orcs?" Legolas demanded.

"It's from a tech company based in Mordor," Boromir pointed out. "What did you expect?"

"If you don't trust Barad-dûr, why are you working for them?" Tauriel asked.

"Gotta make ends meet somehow," Boromir said, shrugging. Even if he was going to tell these strangers about the evil shit Barad-dûr was up to, he would not betray the trust his father placed in him and in this mission.

"That's bullshit," Legolas said. "But whatever. Go on."

"Barad-dûr's distributing a virus that turns people into orcs…" Gimli frowned. "How? Why? When Mairon took over Mordor after the Last Alliance, I thought all that was done with."

"What, and you believed that?" Legolas snorted. "My father said—"

"Hush." Tauriel gave him a stern look. "We're not here for that."

Boromir laughed sardonically. They had no idea what they were talking about. The hard-won peace after the Last Alliance, the peace his ancestors shed blood for, had begun to die the moment that Mairon set foot in Mordor. Whatever that two-faced, silver-tongued bastard said he was, it was clear he still served Sauron in some fashion. Orcs were no relic of the past—they were alive and well, slaving away in Mairon's assembly lines.

"I can control it," Boromir said. "I can, I swear—it only gets me just, every now and then. If I can make it to my last stop, I know someone—well, I know  _of_  him—that can help me deal with it."

"Who? Where are you going?" Tauriel asked. "You don't seem like a threat to Dale, but I'm concerned about more than just my corner of the world."

"You always have been." Legolas sighed. Tauriel elbowed him, and he winced.

Boromir chewed on the inside of his lip, still resisting the urge to tell them everything. The bitter tang of blood swam in his mouth, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his bad habits or the aftertaste of the virus's affects. It always left a horrible feeling on his tongue.

"I can't tell you," he said.

"If you don't, I may have to call in some backup," Tauriel warned. "And they'll be here as cops, not as friends."

"You're not very friendly," Boromir muttered. Legolas glared at him.

"Alright, fine," he said reluctantly. "I was hoping...I mean, I know that Lord Elrond will be able to help me."

Tauriel wrinkled her nose as she mulled his story over. "Well," she said at last, "fine. You really haven't done anything wrong, so I can't bring you in. And Elrond will be better at helping you than anyone in Dale."

"Thank you," Boromir said, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Now, would you three please get out of my truck?"

"Not so fast!" Tauriel stood, and her friends rose beside her. She looked ridiculous, towering over short Gimli in his stained shirt and even a few inches taller than moody, apron-wearing Legolas. An authority figure like her didn't belong with those two losers.

"What is it now?" Boromir snapped. He was half-naked, his clothes in tatters after his transformation, and he wanted to change and  _get out_.

"Who's to say you won't...transform again on your trip?" Tauriel shook her head. "It's dangerous for you to be by yourself. Someone ought to go with you."

"I'm dangerous to be around!" Boromir protested. "Please, Officer—"

"I'll go," Legolas said. He blinked, as if he surprised even himself.

"Really?" Tauriel asked. "After all you went through to get here?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gimli asked, but Legolas ignored him.

"I mean..." Legolas paused to ponder his decision, but only for a brief moment. "You know what? I will go. I've got nothing keeping me here."

"What?" Tauriel and Gimli said at the same time.

Legolas scowled and ripped off his apron with the logo of Bowman's Brew off his chest. "I'm sick of this job. I wanted to get out into the world. Nothing's so wonderful in Dale that I can't do that elsewhere, and this is a great way to do it. Plus, I know Elrond. I went to university in Rivendell."

Boromir appraised him. Legolas was average-looking for an elf, not that Boromir had met all that many. He had pale brown hair and cloudy blue eyes, giving him a rather mopey expression. His skin was brown but did not bear the freckles and burnished glow of someone who worked hard in the sun; still, something in the firm muscles of his upper arms showed a subtle strength.

It was impossible to tell the age of an elf, but on the chance that Legolas was more than a few centuries old, he certainly had some experience with conflict outside of the interpersonal kind. In a war like the one Boromir was fighting, he would be a useful ally.

"Well...alright," he agreed. "You can come with me."

"Uh, great," Legolas said. He frowned, scratching his head. "I need to get get my stuff together... We can leave tomorrow morning, then, if that's alright? You can stay the night at my place, I think I have a sleeping bag somewhere..."

"Ooh, sleepover? Can I come?" Gimli laughed.

"I honestly cannot tell if you're kidding," Legolas said wearily.

"I am," Gimli assured, "but I'd love to go with you two to Rivendell."

"No!" both Legolas and Boromir exclaimed at once.

"I think Legolas will be company enough," Tauriel said.

"Why must you follow me everywhere I go?" Legolas demanded.

"Really, I don't want to get anyone else involved," Boromir said. He had enough guilt hanging on his soul already, even without Legolas.

"Alright, alright!" Gimli threw his hands up in the air. "I just thought I could offer my services."

"You're just like Kíli." Tauriel shook her head as she turned to climb out of the truck. "I swear, the whole Line of Durin will leap into anything without looking twice."

"Not Thorin," Gimli disagreed. "He's methodical."

"Except when he's escaping from our dungeons," Legolas shot back.

" _Our_  dungeons?" Gimli asked. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

Legolas scowled. "It's nothing—nevermind. I mean, we've all heard the stories."

Boromir's stomach growled, louder than any orc. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Um...Legolas?" he said. "I know you're quitting your job and all, but do you think you could hook me up with some baked goods before then?"

Legolas sighed. "Alright, fine—but that's the  _last_  thing I do in that place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please have mercy on my poor content creator soul and leave me a comment


	3. The Truck Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, i've updated on schedule 3 times in a row, the least you can do is drop a comment  
> (jk do what you want but also not jk. please comment im dying)

Listening to the awkward silence between Boromir and Legolas as they embarked on their road trip across Middle-earth was almost unbearable for Gimli. If they'd invited him along, he would have been happy to chatter the whole way to Rivendell just to break the ice for them, but since they had turned him down, he'd had to resort to more...desperate measures.

He had snuck into Boromir's truck the night prior to their departure, hiding himself away between the back wall of the cab and the front seats. It was not a very comfortable position, curled up beneath layers of blankets, but it was only a temporary predicament. As soon as the distance from Dale was too far to turn around, he would reveal his presence.

Still, Gimli almost regretted his decisions. He was sweaty in all the worst places, aching in every limb, and regretting this ridiculous plan of his. He should have just stayed in Dale. Legolas and Boromir didn't want him coming with them, anyway.

With every sneeze and muttered "bless you", Gimli itched to announce his presence and unite them in frustration against him. At least then they'd  _talk_. They wouldn't even turn on the radio! What kind of people were they?

Boromir was a strange fellow with a stranger story. How could Gimli hear a tale about viruses, orcs, and wars brewing in Mordor and  _not_  need to come along? His father had gone on such an adventure; now it was his turn to save the world. He couldn't wait any longer.

And Legolas...Gimli couldn't quite comprehend that man. Legolas had centuries of secrets clutched tight to his chest and hidden truths falling out of his pointy ears. But despite all that and his grumpy attitude, he let Gimli hang around him. And there was something about him that Gimli couldn't place, an awkward sincerity that at once charmed and intrigued him.

It wasn't "love", or whatever—Gimli knew himself too well to mistake it for that. He'd had flings in the past, nothing that meant much after a week or two, and he was well aware that he didn't experience such things in the usual way. But he liked Legolas, and that plus the mystery of Boromir's condition were more than enough to draw Gimli out onto the open road.

Boromir and Legolas drove through the wide wilderness with naught but the roar of the engine and the occasional munching of a snack to fill the air. It was incredibly boring, especially for the stowaway in the back. Gimli thought he was going to scream if they didn't start at least making small talk.  _That_  would start a conversation.

He began to tap his toes on the back of the seat. He beat the rhythm of an old dwarvish lullabye his father had sung to him as a babe, hoping that perhaps a reminder of his family would give him the resolve to stick this through.

"Could you stop that?" Boromir asked abruptly.

"Stop what?" Legolas asked.

"That...tapping."

"I'm not tapping."

"Then whatever you're doing, stop it. It's—distracting."

" _Hrrmph._ "

Gimli paused his tapping, biting back a laugh. Oh, this could be  _fun_.

He began to hum softly—very low, very quiet. He didn't want to be discovered; not yet, at least. This was a tune heard in every store in Dale, "Dwarves Just Wanna Have Fun".

"Really?" Legolas exclaimed. " _That_  song?"

"What are you talking about?" Boromir snapped. Gimli hushed as soon as he began to talk, the blankets upon him shaking as he laughed silently.

"It's a dumb song," Legolas muttered. "You didn't want me—tapping, or whatever, so don't sing!"

"I wasn't singing!"

"Don't hum either!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

They fell back into disgruntled silence. The truck rumbled along the highway, and Gimli heaved a quiet sigh.

A few moments later, he started humming again.

"You know what—" Legolas began.

" _I'm not humming_!" Boromir insisted. "The—the radio on this damn thing must be broken, or something!"

"I need some fresh air," Legolas grumbled.

"I need to pee," Boromir muttered. "I'll pull off at the next rest stop."

As soon as the truck stopped, Gimli decided that he, too, needed to get out. He waited a few minutes until after Boromir and Legolas had vacated the cab, then threw the blankets off his body. He clambered over the seats and crawled out of the truck, stretching his legs and cracking his back.

Gimli blinked in the sunlight, unused to the bright light. He'd been hiding under the blanket for several hours, and no matter how much he'd daydreamed, being free felt even better than he could possibly have imagined.

He smiled in the sunshine—then ran to the bathroom. He needed to pee too.

* * *

He was waiting for them when they got back to the truck, a smug smile wide on his face.

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw Gimli, his mouth hanging wide open. "You?" he demanded. "What the fuck?"

"How did you get here?" Boromir shouted.

"Hitched a ride with two friends," he said cheekily. "Though I must say, their back seat is not very comfortable, even with all the blankets. I'd much prefer to ride up front."

"No way," Legolas growled. "No fucking way!"

"Language," Gimli scolded.

"You snuck into my truck and rode with us all this way?" Boromir demanded. "What the hell, man!"

"I told you I wanted to come along," Gimli said.

"That doesn't mean—" Legolas spun around, his arms waving in the air wildly. He devolved into more swearing, and Gimli turned imploringly to Boromir.

"Look, I'm sorry I had to resort to such measures, but I want to help," he said. "I'm sick of Dale, sick of disappointing my father, and I had to get out. This was my chance."

"So you hid in the cab of our truck?" Legolas demanded.

"Our?" Boromir scowled. "This is  _my_  truck."

"It's Mairon's truck, don't lie to yourselves." Gimli crossed his arms. "And that's all the more reason you need me. My family's been keeping tabs on Mordor since the War of the Last Alliance."

"So has mine," Boromir growled. "That's why I'm in this mess. And it's no excuse for what you've—"

"I couldn't hitch a ride with anyone else, could I?" Gimli asked. "My father wouldn't pay for me to rent a car and I've only got so much cash—"

"Get a job," Legolas muttered. "That's what  _I_  did—"

"It doesn't matter!" Gimli interrupted. "I've come all this way with you. I'm here. And if your problem with that virus is really as dangerous as you say it is, you won't turn back now."

Boromir scowled. "Get in the truck," he said shortly. "We'll talk about this as we drive."

Gimli sat snugly between Boromir on his left and Legolas on his right. Though a tight fit, this was much more comfortable than squeezing himself into his previous position.

"What do you think you're doing here with us?" Boromir asked. His tone was measured, slow. He sounded like he was trying to control his temper.

"Like I said, I can't stay in Dale anymore," Gimli replied, "and I've got some interest in your goings-on. If Mairon and Barad-dûr are involved in this mess, it looks like another grand quest is on its way."

"I wouldn't call it..." But Boromir trailed off. "Alright. You're probably—on the right track, at least."

"My father was involved in a quest, and well..." Gimli sighed. "I've got a lot of hopes riding on me, hopes I've failed to live up to so far. I'm supposed to achieve something great, and sticking around Erebor wasn't going to get me anywhere."

"So much for your fashion career," Legolas muttered. It was the first thing he'd said to Gimli since they'd left the rest stop.

"That'll have to wait," Gimli admitted. "Before my father will let me go after my own business, I need to prove myself to him. And saving the world from a horrible virus is a great way to start."

"Who is your father, anyway?" Boromir asked. "Is his a quest I'd know about?"

"Probably," Gimli said. "Does the Quest for Erebor ring a bell?"

Legolas frowned. "Wait. You mean your father is  _that_  Glóin?"

Gimli nodded. He loved his father, and he was immeasurably proud of his family, but it was hard living in the shadows of great dwarves. "And my mother is a renowned seamstress, famous throughout all Erebor. I need to make my own mark."

He'd once been the pride of his family, the great and wonderful Gimli. But he'd been too young to prove his worth when the Quest for Erebor had come along, and now he was too lackadaisical to achieve anything great. At least, that's what his father had griped about last week after he cut off his allowance. Gimli needed greatness, and fast.

"That's all fine and dandy, but that's no reason to get involved with us!" Legolas snapped.

"Well I'm here now," Gimli said. "You can't drive back to Dale."

"No," Boromir said, clutching the steering wheel with the grip of a monster, "but I can drop you off on the side of the road and leave you to the mercy of anyone stupid enough to pick you up!"

"You wouldn't," Gimli said.

"Try me." Boromir elbowed him into Legolas's stomach, and Gimli grunted as he fell into the elf.

"Hello there," he said, looking up into Legolas's murky blue gaze.

"Get off me!" Legolas pushed him back up, and Gimli laughed.

"You know, back home I'm supposed to be a handsome fellow," he teased. "I guess elven standards are—"

"Is  _that_  was this is about?" Legolas cried. "You want to get in my pants? If that's the case, then—"

"Calm down, sweetheart, I was only joking." Gimli crossed his arms, leaning back over to Boromir. "Though if you have second thoughts I'm open to the possibility."

"Are you talking to me now?" Boromir said, wrinkling his nose.

"No, but..." Gimli shrugged.

"I hate this so much," Legolas muttered.

"I think we're all going to get along wonderfully!" Gimli proclaimed. "This is already far more interesting than it was before you knew I was here. At least you're  _talking_  now. I had to resort to such desperate measures for entertainment—"

" _You_  were the one singing that stupid song?" Legolas asked.

" _Dwarves just wanna have fu-un!_ " he warbled.

"I cannot believe you two," Boromir muttered.

"You are just as bad!" Legolas exclaimed at the same moment Gimli said, "You're one to talk!" They turned to glare at each other, but Gimli couldn't keep a straight face. (Or a straight any other body part.) Legolas, for all his flamboyance, managed just fine.

"Are you going to kick me out?" Gimli asked, turning back to Boromir. "You're letting  _this_  loser come along, and I know how to deal with him."

"Oh, so now I'm a loser?" Legolas complained. "Just yesterday you couldn't keep me out of your sight—"

"Plus, you could use my axe," Gimli added, ignoring him.

"Your axe?" Boromir sputtered.

"It's in the back," Gimli said, "along with the rest of my stuff. In one of those empty boxes you had in there."

Boromir groaned. Legolas muttered something under his breath in Elvish.

"Fine," Boromir said. "Fine! I give in. You can stay."

Legolas sighed and leaned against the window. "This road trip is too long already..."

* * *

An age ago, when automobiles were just a stray thought in the great inventor Narvi's brain, the journey from Dale to Rivendell would have taken months. But with a highway cutting across Mirkwood and winding through the Misty Mountains, it took only a few days.

Boromir was a trucker, used to driving long distances. Gimli and Legolas, on the other hand, had some adapting to do. This truck was not really built for three people, even if one of them was a dwarf. Sitting squished between Boromir and Legolas was only amusing for so long, and Gimli quickly joined his companions in disgruntlement.

"We'd better get a new ride once we get to Rivendell," Gimli grumbled. "One with enough room for all of us!"

"There isn't going to be a new ride," Boromir said. "As soon as I get there, all I need is help from Elrond. Someone else can take over this quest after that—I need to get back to my mis...to Gondor."

"Is Gondor nice?" Legolas asked awkwardly. Gimli sighed; he was awful at small talk. Legolas sat as close to the window as possible, squeezing his skinny body so he had the least amount of contact with Gimli. "I've, uh, never been."

"It's the most beautiful country in Middle-earth," Boromir said, his eyes lighting up. "The people are proud and benevolent, from the villages to Minas Tirith. And Minas Tirith! It is a gem of a city, carved out of white stone in the side of a mountain, tiered and reaching into the sky—"

"Sounds like a nightmare for traffic," Gimli mused.

Boromir faltered. "Well—it was built in ages past. The ancient Númenoreans didn't foresee cars."

"I'll pass on it, then," Gimli said. "Give me Erebor any day."

"You don't even live there," Legolas pointed out. "You're my weird neighbor."

"I moved out to get some independence," Gimli said, sticking his nose in the air. "That doesn't mean I didn't prefer Erebor; I'll go back there eventually."

"The lower levels of Erebor are pure trash," Legolas disagreed. "I can't believe the squalor—"

"Then stay up in the top!" Gimli exclaimed. "If you need to stay there sometime just tell wherever you're staying that you know me and—"

"I'm not calling in any favors, not anymore," Legolas snapped.

"What does  _that_  mean?" Gimli demanded. "Don't tell me you know royalty like I do—"

"Stop bickering!" Boromir shouted. "I swear, you two are like an old married couple!"

"This is why I didn't want him coming!" Legolas cried.

"Excuse  _me_ ," Gimli said, affronted, "but  _I've_  got the cash to get all the lodgings we've stayed at so far—what were y'all planning to do, sleep in the truck?"

"You guys are going to make my head explode," Boromir growled. He turned to glare at them, breathing heavily with furrowed brows. " _Please_  shut up—"

"Boromir!" Legolas said, staring out the front window.

"I might just freak out and transform—"

"Boromir!" This time, Gimli joined in.

"—if you two trigger the virus, I'm gonna—"

"Boromir!" Gimli shouted. "Watch out—there's someone in the road!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember what I said up at the top? I'd really love some comments. I'm kind of sad that this fic has only gotten 2 comments, both from my Beta.... I would really love it if you could drop a comment even if it's only "great chapter!" or "extra kudos" or something. I'm pretty sure more than just 1 person is reading this, so I'd love to hear your voices! thank you :o


	4. Old Friends and New Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a doozy of a chapter! we're meeting more people and things are starting to unfold - but it won't be til next chapter that everything will become clear.  
> Thank you so much for all of your comments! it really does make writing a much better experience <3  
> And finally... just a heads up, I will be taking a break from fanfiction for the month of July as I focus on original work for Camp NaNoWriMo. I’ll be back in August with updates! Thanks for understanding! You all rock!!

Boromir slammed on the breaks, stopping the truck just in time to avoid hitting the person standing in the middle of the road. Legolas lurched forward, his seatbelt halting his momentum only an inch away from the windshield.

"Agh!" Gimli exclaimed, the sudden stop throwing him face-first into the dashboard. Once he got his breath back, Legolas couldn't repress a snort of amusement.

Boromir lifted his hands from the wheel, his entire body shaking. "That—was too close—" He clenched his fist, breathing deeply. "Oh, shit. Legolas, I think it's—" He scrunched up his face. "I'm trying to fight it, but it's—"

Legolas reached over and squeezed Boromir's arn. "You can do this." He concentrated, calling upon the magic of his ancestors to help him. "I've got you."

"I—" Boromir breathed deeply. In, out; in, out. His shoulders slumped and he passed out, his face falling into the steering wheel. The horn blared, and Legolas groaned. He pushed Boromir back up to stop the noise, wondering how they were going to get out of this one.

"Gerroff me," Gimli mumbled. Legolas hadn't even noticed him cowering beneath him as he reached over to help Boromir. He leaned back into his seat, allowing Gimli to sit up properly.

"Who was in the road?" Legolas wondered. He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, ready to hop out and see if they were alright. They were all lucky that this stretch of the highway was practically deserted; they hadn't seen another car on the road for over an hour.

He froze halfway out of his seat, gobsmacked once he beheld the person before him.

"Legolas?" the man said in astonishment.

"Aragorn?" Legolas could barely believe his eyes. "What the hell are you doing around here?"

"What are you— How did you—" Aragorn laughed. "Oh, never mind! Come here!"

Befuddled, Legolas got out of the truck and let Aragorn give him a hug. His mind raced: why was Aragorn here? Why had he been standing in the middle of the road? What was going on?

"Who's this?" Gimli asked, hopping out of the truck.

"My college roommate, Aragorn," Legolas said.

"Ohhh!" Gimli exclaimed. "That explains it. He's the one in your pictures who always had that one eyebrow raised like he thought it looked cool, and half the time he'd be shirtless—"

"Um, yeah, that's me," Aragorn interrupted, mortified. "And you are—?"

"This is—" Legolas scowled. "This is, well, this is Gimli. He's..."

"Your friend?" Gimli suggested.

"My annoying neighbor," Legolas said.

"And who's in there?" Aragorn asked.

"That's...more complicated." Legolas rubbed his forehead. "We'll have to get him out of the driver's seat...I put him to sleep."

"Thanks," Aragorn said. "I thought he was going to run us over."

"Wait—us?" Legolas frowned.

"Come on out," Aragorn called, looking over his shoulder. "It's okay, they're friends."

Out from behind a scrubby little bush crawled two people the likes of which Legolas had never before seen. They looked like little men, reaching only up to Aragorn's waist with round, cheerful faces and curly hair. Paired with the wary glares they sent his way, their friendly appearance was almost comical.

"Where's Sam?" Aragorn asked.

"With Frodo," one of the little men said. "She doesn't want to leave Frodo's side."

"Probably for the best," Aragorn agreed. "Legolas, try and get your truck out of the lane of traffic. Just pull off to the side, there's nothing here for you to ruin. We don't want to cause any traffic later down the line." He frowned. "And I'd  _really_  like to know what you're doing in a Barad-dûr vehicle."

"I've got some questions for you, too," Legolas said. "We'll be right back out to join you."

Leaving Gimli to entertain the little men, Legolas clambered back into the truck. He pushed Boromir's snoring body over to the other side of the cab, and sat in the driver's seat. He bit his lip as he stared at the controls.

"Um," he called out to Aragorn, "I just remembered...I don't know how to drive."

Aragorn laughed. "I'll do it," he said. "I even know how to drive trucks like this."

Legolas scooted over and made room for him. As Aragorn got comfortable, he looked at Boromir quizzically.

"So, who is this?" he asked.

Legolas sighed. "If I'm being honest—I'm not really sure."

"You're traveling across Middle-earth without knowing who your companions are?" Aragorn clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "That's not safe."

"And who are your new friends?" Legolas challenged.

"Well—" Aragorn shrugged. "I guess you have a point."

He moved the truck off the road in a matter of seconds, taking an gravel path down to where the little men had led Gimli. This stretch of highway was long and empty, with few vehicles taking this road. The hideout was far from civilization and well-concealed, a tidy little camp hidden away in the brush that would be easily overlooked by the unobservant eye. Even the run-down minivan parked across from the camp looked like it could be abandoned.

As Legolas and Aragorn joined Gimli and the little men by the fire, another small person poked her head out of the minivan.

"Strider!" she exclaimed. "Who are these people?"

"Relax, Sam," Aragorn said. "They're friends. This is Legolas, and that's Gimli."

"Charmed," Gimli said. Legolas waved to her awkwardly.

Sam looked at them with narrowed eyes, then disappeared back into the minivan. "I've got to make sure Miss Frodo's not getting any worse!" she called back.

"Is someone ill?" Gimli asked.

"That'd be Frodo," one of the little men said, his tone far too serious for the floral-print t-shirt he wore.

"I can see you've got quite the story," Gimli said.

Aragorn looked at Legolas, raising an eyebrow. Legolas had never noticed it before, but Gimli was right—he did that a lot. "Legolas, do you think you could—"

Legolas bit his lip. "I can take a look," he said reluctantly. "But I'm no healer, and I think I'm magicked out after putting Boromir to sleep."

Aragorn blinked. "Wait—did you say his name was Boromir?"

"Yes, that's the man in the truck," Legolas said. "Do you know him?"

"I—" Aragorn frowned. "We'll talk about that later. Let's go look at Frodo."

"Who are these people?" Legolas murmured as they walked over to the van. "I've never seen the likes of them."

"They're hobbits," Aragorn said. "Halflings.  _Periannath_ , in Sindarin."

"Oh!" Legolas blinked. "I didn't know any existed in these parts."

"They keep to themselves for the most part," Aragorn said. "They're a rustic folk—the older generation doesn't like technology, and the youngsters only use it for fun. Merry and Pippin back there, they didn't even know you could use cell phones to call people. They were just using their old Gen 2 íScreens to play Fruit Ranger. There's barely any service in the Shire, anyway, and only a couple folks have landlines."

Aragorn opened the door to the minivan, and Legolas peered inside. It was dark, especially as the sun set outside, and he could hear moaning.

Stretched across the back seat was another hobbit. Her dark hair was mussed, her mouth full of saliva, her eyes were rolled back in her head. Sam knelt by her side, squished in the small space between the seat and the ones in front of it that was really only meant for dangling legs.

"Shh, Miss Frodo, shh," she said tenderly. "You'll be alright..."

"What happened to her?" Legolas asked in a hushed tone.

"Dark magic," Aragorn growled. "You won't believe the awful things we've seen in the past few days."

"Is it...the virus?" Legolas asked.

"What virus?" Sam said, turning to look at them with suspicion. "She'll be alright, won't she?"

Frodo twitched and moaned, stirring Legolas to pity. "I can't heal her," he admitted, "but I think I can put her to sleep. She should be better when she wakes up, if she has what Boromir does."

"What?" Aragorn said.

"I'll explain in a moment," Legolas promised. "Let me touch her."

Reluctantly, Sam moved aside. Legolas reached over the middle seat and gingerly placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo cried out, and Sam moved to grab her, but Aragorn held her back.

Legolas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was hard to do magic at all, let alone twice in one day, but there was still a seed of power within him. He channeled that through his arm and into Frodo's twitching form.

Frodo's face relaxed, and her eyelids drooped. She fell asleep in seconds.

Legolas leaned back with a groan, his head spinning. He felt like passing out himself. He'd used up too much of his energy today.

Aragorn caught him as he stumbled backwards. "Woah there," he said. "You alright?"

"I think I need to lie down," Legolas mumbled.

"Sam, help me get him out of the car," Aragorn said.

"But Miss Frodo—"

"Can do without you for a bit. Come on—he's heavier than he looks."

Legolas gave a huge yawn, eyelashes fluttering, as Sam and Aragorn lugged him out to where Gimli had started a small campfire for Merry and Pippin.

"Put that out!" Aragorn snapped as he settled Legolas on the ground. "Do you want those Riders coming back?"

Merry and Pippin gasped, making quick work of stomping out the embers.

"Riders? What do you mean?" Gimli demanded. He tilted his head, looking over to Legolas. "And what did you to him?"

"He overexerted himself, is all," Aragorn said. "He'll be fine in the morning."

Legolas lifted an arm that felt heavier than anything he'd ever carried before. "'M still awake," he mumbled. "Don' talk about me, I c'n hear you..."

Gimli muttered something under his breath that Legolas's sleepy ears didn't quite catch. Slapping himself on the face weakly, Legolas struggled to sit up just as his stomach grumbled like the engine in Boromir's truck.

"Got anythin' to eat?" he asked hopefully.

"Just trail mix," Pippin said glumly.

"Yeah, and none of the E&Es are left," Merry added, elbowing his friend. " _Someone_  ate them all."

"I didn't know we were coming on this road trip!" Pippin protested. "Hey, have you ever wondered what E&E stood for, anyway? Those little nuggets of chocolate are definitely  _not_  shaped like Es."

"Elros and Elrond," Aragorn replied, rubbing his forehead. "They were developed by a descendant of Elros in the mainland, and...Oh, nevermind." Pippin had already stopped listening.

"Oh hey, we might have a couple brownies left," Merry said. He waggled his eyebrows. "But they've got some secret ingredients."

"It's weed," Pippin explained. "Weed is the secret ingredient."

Gimli snorted. "Of course."

"You delinquents are lucky Miss Frodo and I ran into you when we did." Sam sniffed. "Running away like you'd sold all the secrets to growing pipe-weed and stolen Farmer Maggot's whole crop—"

"The Shirrifs were after us!" Merry protested.

"We didn't steal  _all_  Maggot's crop!" Pippin exclaimed. "Just enough for—"

Legolas stomach growled again. "I'm still hungry!" he snapped. "Stories later, food now!"

Aragorn dug around in his pockets, pulling out some beef jerky. "Not the brand you like, but—"

Legolas snatched it from his hands greedily, devouring it quickly. "'M not picky right now." Even if the Silvan stuff  _was_  better.

After eating a bit, he felt much better. "Alright," he said, smacking his lips. "Tell us what's going on."

"I can't say everything—not here—but I'll try to explain," Aragorn said. "I've been working with Mithrandir—Gandalf, as the hobbits know him—investigating into some...dark magic is probably the best way to put it. Only, it's not just magic. Since the Third Age began, it's morphed along with changing times into—something else."

"A virus?" Gimli guessed. "Boromir's looking into the same sort of thing."

"Kind of." Aragorn paused. The sun had now set entirely, and the moon was only a sliver in the sky. In the darkness, Aragorn looked like a troubled hero out of legends, which Legolas supposed he was. Gone was the carefree Estel of their college days; Aragorn had at last embraced his destiny.

He quirked that eyebrow again. "I was instructed to accompany Frodo Baggins and and one companion, Sam, in a short journey. We were supposed to meet Mithrandir in Bree, but he didn't show. Also, we picked up these two hitchhikers."

"Hey, we're useful!" Merry protested.

"That remains to be seen," Sam grumbled.

"We're headed now to Rivendell," Aragorn said. "Frodo is carrying something that has to do with that virus you talked about it. And there are Riders chasing us. Nine of them." He gave Legolas a meaningful look.

 _Nine Riders_...that sounded vaguely familiar, and definitely not good. But none of Legolas's five degrees had been in history. He wasn't sure what Aragorn meant.

"They caught up to us last night, on Weathertop," Aragorn continued. "I think we're safe for the moment. I fought them off, and mangled the tires of their motorcycles. But that won't stop them for much longer, and our van's out of gas."

"So why were you in the road?" Gimli said, picking the raisins out of the hobbits' trail mix and popped them into his mouth. "You weren't planning on  _walking_  to Rivendell?"

"No," Aragorn said. "Pippin and I were trying to flag down someone to give us a ride to the nearest gas station. Luck was on our side when the first truck that stopped was you guys."

"We're going to Rivendell, too," Legolas said. "Boromir's got the virus like Frodo—he wants help from Elrond. Gimli and I are...tagging along, making sure he doesn't transform."

"Transform?" Sam said in alarm. "You mean Frodo—" She rose to her feet, but Gimli pulled her back down to the ground.

"If Legolas put her out, she'll be alright for now," Gimli assured.

"Transform into what?" Pippin asked.

"An orc," Legolas said.

Pippin clutched Merry's arm, his eyes wide with fright. "But—how?" he exclaimed.

"We don't know," Aragorn admitted. "Gandalf went to find out, but the fact that he hasn't returned..."

"Is he an orc now, too?" Merry asked.

"Mithrandir is far too strong to succumb to that," Legolas disagreed. "He is from the West."

"So're we," Pippin pointed out, "and Frodo's got it."

"Much, much further West." Aragorn chuckled. "All will become clear in time, Pippin."

"But Frodo will be alright?" Sam asked.

"If we get her to Rivendell soon," Aragorn said. He glanced at Legolas. "We only need the wheels."

At that moment, the door to the truck opened, and a bleary-eyed Boromir stumbled out.

"What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his head.

"Nothing much," Gimli said, rising to his feet. "We're just picking up some hitchhikers, is all."


	5. The Council of Elrond, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 84 years...but i RISE from the DEAD once again!!  
> just kidding. but seriously, it's been uhhh 6 months since the last update? YIKES, I am so sorry y'all! I know I said I was taking a break during July but OOF. Life got whack, is all I can say! I got a job, had tons of family stuff going on, moved to college, had midterms, i'm in the middle of FINALS now - and top of that, this chapter morphed into an absolute BEAST!  
> originally this was supposed to be one rather lengthy chapter, but i've had to split it into three separate parts. all three parts ARE done though so you can be sure of biweekly updates for the next month or so! hopefully by then my life will be a little more on the rails, but we'll see. updates will come when they can, but rest assured that i have NOT forgotten this fic, despite whatever is going on in my life.  
> (psst. if you want updates on my progress writing this fic follow me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/) if you aren't already; i blog about lord of the rings and occasionally about writing. and you are always always welcome to shoot me a friendly ask about my progress in fic writing!!)  
> also, in lieu of splitting up this chapter into 3, i've gone back and added chapter titles for the previous chapters just to keep things consistent. :)  
> and one final note, before we begin: thank you SO MUCH to the lovely [@woodsmokedog](http://woodsmokedog.tumblr.com/) for their [AMAZING fanart](http://arofili.tumblr.com/post/175587992317/thank-you-to-awkwardlinche-for-this-incredible) of boromir, legolas, and gimli in this fic!! i am blow away by how wonderful it is; they have really captured the essence of the characters and the world and i am so honored that my story can inspire something like this!!  
> alright, i've stalled long enough - let's get into the long-awaited chapter 5!!

When he came to, surrounded by strangers, Boromir's first instinct was defensive. Three tiny human-like creatures he'd never seen the likes of before was enough of a shock—but the appearance of the strange man disturbed him so deeply he couldn't do anything but stare.

That face! That face was the one plastered across the walls of the corridor outside his childhood bedroom, the one in faded old pictures from decades past, the one of the great hero who had saved his grandfather's life! He looked as if he hadn't aged a day, though his grandfather was dead and gone. But this was no immortal elf; he was clearly human, with a beard and the beginnings of wrinkles.

Boromir  _knew_  the identity of this man—and yet, now that they stood face-to-face, he couldn't remember anything about him. Not his history, not the specifics of his fearless exploits in battle, and most frustratingly, not even his  _name_.

After a few moments of dumbfounded staring, Gimli swooped in to introduce their new companions. He called them "hitchhikers", but Boromir couldn't accept such a simple answer. He was missing something.

The stout little humans were periain, he soon realized. Halflings, in the common tongue. He'd heard tell of them, but he'd never seen one before. He was still too confused to grasp all the names that Gimli rattled off, but he did catch one: Aragorn, the name of the man from the stories.

_Aragorn_ —no, that wasn't it. The hero's name had started with a T (maybe a Th?), he was sure of it. But "Aragorn" didn't volunteer a different moniker, and the narrow, suspicious glare he cast Boromir's way was anything but reassuring.

"And this is Boromir of Gondor," Gimli said, concluding the introductions. "He's our driver."

"You're from Gondor?" asked one of the halflings (Mary?).

"Um...yes." Boromir racked his mind, trying to recall the name of the hero. It wasn't Thorin...and it definitely wasn't Thranduil. Those were leaders from different corners of the world.

"Strider told us that this one city in Gondor's got huge white walls," another halfling (Perry?) said, sucking on a lollipop. "I said, that's ridiculous. They'd be stained brown after a year, and he said they've been there for centuries."

"I—who? Strider?" Boromir blinked.

"Another one of my names," Aragorn explained. "I've picked up several over the years."

_Yes,_  Boromir thought,  _like...Túrin?_  No, that was someone else. "Um...they wash the walls. Otherwise they'd—well, I don't know. It wouldn't look like a City of Kings if the walls were brown."

"But Strider said there wasn't a King," said a third halfling (Sammo?). "He said it was just Stewards."

Normally, Boromir would have puffed out his chest and made his father proud. He was the son of the Steward, the heir of Denethor, and the Kings were tales of the past. But he was troubled by the shadow that passed across this Strider's face, and held his tongue.

"There may again be a King," Aragorn said, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "And Minas Tirith has not forgotten its history."

"It's late," Gimli piped up, his hands on his hips. "If we're leaving in the morning, we ought to get some sleep. Or would you like to fall asleep at the wheel?"

"What?" Boromir said, scratching his head.

"Good point," Aragorn said. Legolas had already passed out on the ground. "Let's call it a night."

"Could someone please explain to me what's going on?" Boromir begged, but he could feel a headache coming on.

"Tomorrow morning," Aragorn promised, not meeting his eyes. "You can take me in that truck of yours to grab some gas for the van; I'll fill you in then. We'll need more room than that tiny cab if all eight of us are going to make it to Rivendell safe and sound."

Boromir caved, exhaustion overcoming him. Tomorrow morning—hopefully he could figure out Aragorn's true name by then.

* * *

"Is there something odd to you about Aragorn?" Boromir murmured to Legolas as he prepared to start the trip to the gas station. The sun had barely risen, but Aragorn had issued a cryptic warning about being chased, something along the lines of "we haven't time to waste".

"He can be a little intense," Legolas assured him, "but he's a wonderful guy. I was his roommate in college, you know."

Boromir hesitated. Legolas rubbed his eyes; if he weren't a perfect-bodied elf, Boromir was sure there would be bags beneath them. Could he really trust Legolas's opinion on this?

"Look, don't worry about him," Legolas dismissed. "I've got to go check on Freedom, or whatever that other halfling's name is. She's been out longer than you were. I wish _I_  could sleep that soundly...that oaf of a dwarf woke me up three times last night. He  _snores_."

Boromir gave up. Legolas just wasn't in the right mood for this. He trudged over to his truck, where Aragorn was already waiting. Wordlessly, they clambered into the cab.

Boromir squinted at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye as he maneuvered the truck back onto the highway. He was still no closer to remember the name his grandfather knew him by. Turgon? Thráin? Throckmorton? None of them seemed right.

According to his GPS, the nearest gas station was only a few miles away. Boromir couldn't fathom how to begin a conversation with Aragorn, who was mostly concerned with staring moodily out the window. The drive was perhaps the second-most awkward set of five minutes in Boromir's life thus far.

After filling up the truck's tank and hauling several gallons of gas into the back for the minivan, Aragorn pulled out several charred bills and a handful of coins stained so badly Boromir hadn't a clue what government had issued them. Luckily, the gas station attendant accepted his money without question.

As they started back to the camp, Boromir cleared his throat. He could swear that Aragorn's other name was on the tip of his tongue, and he wasn't going to find out by keeping his mouth shut. (Thorondor? Was that it?)

"Do I know you?" he asked.

Aragorn looked at him with a carefully calculated look of boredom. "I don't believe so."

Boromir scowled. "Alright, then." But after a few more moments, he burst out, "But you  _did_  know my grandfather."

Aragorn sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I can see there's no use in keeping up my pretenses, then?"

"Considering there's a painting of you riding beside him in the hall outside my rooms in Minas Tirith, I doubt it," Boromir said.

"Yes, I did know Ecthelion," Aragorn admitted. "I served under him under the name Thor—"

" _Thorongil_!" Boromir exclaimed, snapping his fingers. " _That's_  the name! I've been trying to remember it since I first saw you!"

"...ongil," he finished. "But, as you've gathered, that is not my true name."

"But how are you still alive, and so young?" Boromir asked. "You are no elf."

"I am Númenorean, like yourself," Aragorn said evasively.

"And yet my grandfather has long passed, and my father grows old," Boromir pointed out. "Your age is no doubt twice my own, and yet you carry your years better than I." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you—"

"Don't pass the camp," Aragorn interrupted, pointing off the road. "You're coming up on the turn."

Distracted, Boromir lost track of the conversation as he pulled the truck off the road. As soon as he parked, Aragorn jumped out of the cab and got to work filling up the tank of the minivan. One of the halflings helped their unconscious friend into the back seat, while the other two accosted Gimli, badgering him about his jacket.

"Watch it," Gimli warned, swatting a tiny hand away. "This is genuine dragon leather!"

Boromir snorted. "Of course. Because  _that's_  affordable."

Gimli scowled. "A dragon crashed in the Long Lake only eighty years ago. Dragonhide might be pricey, but it's achievable, if you save."

"And if your father helped kill the dragon," Legolas drawled. "How much did you save for that, I wonder?"

"Don't be that way, Legolas," Aragorn said, wiping his hands on his filthy track pants. "You have no room to talk."

"Aragorn—!" Legolas protested, just as Gimli huffed, "And what is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

Aragorn stared between the two of them, then shrugged. "Nevermind."

"Don't you think we ought to get moving?" asked the halfling Boromir thought was called Mary, hands on her hips. "Miss Frodo's not getting any better! And what about those Riders?"

"Good point, Sam," Aragorn said. Boromir blinked. So she was Sam, not Mary. He could have sworn...

"I am sick of that truck," Legolas declared, flipping his long golden hair over his shoulder. "I call shotgun in the van."

"Oooh! Oooh!" One of the other halflings—Boromir wasn't even going to try to guess his name—jumped up and down eagerly. "Can Mary and I ride in the truck?"

Boromir looked at the other halflings, pursing his lips. So this boy was Mary? If a lad was Mary and a lass Sam, halflings had different naming conventions than they did in Gondor.

Mary and his friend both stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes. They were far too excitable, rambunctious, and possibly high. But something about the way Mary forced his chin to wobble and the other one's clasped hands charmed him.

"Okay," he relented.

"Guess I'm in the van with Sam and Frodo, then," Gimli said. He nudged Legolas. "Stuck together—"

"Just don't kick my seat." Legolas sniffed, clambering into the car.

Boromir helped boost the halflings into the cab and instructed them to buckle up. Before he could hop in the driver's seat, Aragorn caught him by the arm.

"It's a day's journey to Rivendell," he said, keeping his voice low. "The exit is concealed. Just follow me, and don't turn off the road unless I do. Okay? Have Mary or Pippin text Sam if you have an issue—and don't let them convince you of anything outrageous."

Boromir pulled his arm away. "Alright," he said, narrowing his eyes. "No need to make a fuss."

"With those two..." Aragorn shook his head. "You'll see. They shouldn't have come." He raised an eyebrow, another thought occurring to him. "Do you think you can make it to Rivendell without...you know?"

"I'll manage," Boromir said stiffy. He stepped away, ignoring Aragorn as he called out, "Drive safe!"

This man... Something about him rubbed Boromir the wrong way. He held himself too confidently, too... _kingly_. How could his grandfather put up with that? The legend of Thorongil must have been exaggerated over the years.

Unless Aragorn was more than just  _like unto_  a king. Unless the legend was only a portion of the truth. Unless, like he had said, there was to be a King in the White City once more.

Boromir was distracted from his gloomy thoughts by the blaring of the truck's horn. He yelped, whirling around with a glare.

"Come  _on_!" hollered one of the halflings. "Let's get going!"

Boromir covered his ears with his hands as he ran up to the truck. "Stop that!" he bellowed. "You're not licensed to operate this thing, not even the horn!"

"Alright, fine," grumbled the halfling, slumping into his seat.

The van's engine started up, but was quickly drowned out by the rumbling of the truck as Boromir turned his key. He tried to ignore the chattering halflings as he followed Aragorn back onto the highway.

He sat silently while the halflings began to entertain themselves with road trip activities. Unfortunately for them, this stretch of land was practically empty, so their round of the Alphabet Game ended with accusations of cheating less than half an hour in.

Boromir began to see why Aragorn had said they shouldn't have come. They were practically teenagers, far too young for the dangers of the journey. At least Sam and Frodo looked to be in their mid-twenties.

"So," he said, awkwardly interrupting their arguments. "Is your name really Mary?"

The halfling sat up proudly. "Yessir!" he exclaimed. "I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, Merry for short!"

"I'd be a little more merry if you could find a word with the letter F at the  _beginning_ ," the other one needled.

"Good thing your name's Pippin, then." Merry elbowed his friend.

"Merry and Pippin," Boromir said. "Is that short for anything?"

"Peregrin Took," he said. "My father said the name was too dignified for a rascal like myself. That was the day before I ran off!"

"Before  _we_  ran off," Merry corrected.

"Bet he hasn't even realized I'm gone yet," Pippin said with a smirk. "I told him I was going to your place."

"You did come to my place," Merry pointed out. "But then my ma kicked us both out after we ate all her pies for the bake sale."

"I had the munchies!" Pippin protested.

"Yeah, well, me too," Merry said. "So I told  _her_  I was going to your place! It's the perfect scheme."

Boromir frowned, having trouble keeping his eyes on the road. "Wait," he said. "Your families think you're just having an extended sleepover?"

"Yep," they confirmed simultaneously. Pippin giggled in glee, crying out, "Jinx! You owe me a soda!"

Merry groaned. "You drank  _both_  the Mountain Mists I got at the last rest stop! I'm having caffeine withdrawals!"

"I won them both fair and square!"

"Yeah, right—"

"What kinds of music do you two like?" Boromir interrupted. "Maybe we can find a radio station." He didn't usually listen to the radio, but he thought it might be a good idea to distract them from starting  _another_  argument.

"Oooh!" Merry leaned forward, turning the truck's radio on. A storm of static sputtered from the speakers, faint voices leaking through.

"I  _loooove_  nightcore!" Pippin exclaimed. "Buckland's got better reception than Hobbiton, but you can only get to the good websites in Bree. I download  _so_  much nightcore whenever we go there."

"And porn," Merry mentioned casually, still fiddling with the radio dial. "Hey! I think I've got something!"

" _Ocean wiiiinds, take me home, to the plaaace, I belong!_ " warbled the radio. " _Alqualondë, island mama_ —"

"Ugh,  _beach_  music." Pippin fake-retched. At least, Boromir hoped it was fake. "If you can't find nightcore, get some good quality folk country, at least! That elvish junk is  _insufferable_."

Merry fiddled around with the radio for another few minutes, finally settling on a mountain pop station that played "Dwarves Just Wanna Have Fun" and songs of that ilk, interrupted with pops of static as the road weaved in and out of reception. Boromir began to relax as Pippin and Merry got into the groove of the drive, playing games like 20 Questions (or Infinite Questions, when neither of them could guess what the other was thinking), Chopsticks (or Knives, when Pippin nearly broke Merry's outstretched finger out of anger of losing), and Association.

"Hey, Boromir, you wanna play?" Merry invited him.

Boromir shrugged. "Sure." His eyes were growing weary from staring out into the horizon, and he'd try anything to distract himself from the pain building up in his lower back from sitting in the same position for so long.

"Okay, I'll start." Merry glanced around the cab, then said, "Window!"

"Glass," Boromir said.

"Blood!" Pippin piped up.

"Blood?" Boromir exclaimed. "How did you get blood from glass?"

"Well, if you break glass and then step on it, you'll bleed," he explained.

"My turn," Merry said. "Death!"

"Way to get dark," Boromir muttered. "Um...Funeral."

"Zombie!"

"Brains!"

"College," Boromir said.

"Weed," Merry and Pippin said simultaneously.

"Is that what it was like for you?" Boromir asked. In Gondor, under his father's watchful eye, such a thing wasn't even a possibility for him.

"Never went," Pippin said.

"I dropped out," Merry said. "But before that, yeah. Lots of weed."

"Then again, everyone in the Shire is always blazing it," Pippin said.

"I wonder if Imladris University has got lots of stoners," Boromir mused.

"Legolas went there, so probably," Merry said.

"So did Aragorn," Boromir pointed out.

Merry and Pippin burst into laughter. "Yeah, he's no stranger to that kind bud, my dude!" Merry exclaimed.

"He must've stolen half my stuff on the drive up here," Pippin complained.

"Naw, homie, that was me," Merry admitted cheerfully.

"You bastard—!" Pippin launched himself at his "homie", tickling him until they were both squealing with laughter.

Boromir smiled, shaking his head. "Are you two high right now?"

"Nope," Pippin said. "We're  _way_  more chill when we're high."

"I mean, we are on a sugar high," Merry said. "Does that count?"

"No," Boromir said. "I know how that feels, and it's the opposite of 'chill'."

"Wait—have you never smoked weed?" Merry demanded.

"It's sort of illegal in Gondor," Boromir said. "And when I was in Mordor I couldn't risk blowing my cover. If I'd even thought about it."

"Oh, sweet fuck!" Pippin shouted. "Pull over  _right now_ , we've got to fix this!"

"No!" Boromir protested through his laughter. "When we get to Rivendell, maybe."

"No—you've gotta promise!" Merry said, elbowing him. "Or else we'll  _never_  shut up!"

"I don't mind your chatter," Boromir said. "You two are more fun than Legolas and Gimli, anyway."

"That's 'cuz of the sexual tension," Pippin said wisely. "See, Merry and I fucked behind the Green Dragon at 3am when we were high and decided we weren't gay for each other. We don't gotta think about it anymore. Those two haven't figured their shit out yet."

Boromir didn't know how to respond that, so he just shrugged.

"You promise?" Merry said.

"Fine," Boromir agreed. "To the weed, I mean. Not...whatever else you're talking about."

" _Excellent_!" Pippin exclaimed. "Okay—my turn for Association. What we were on? Weed?"

"You just went!" Merry protested.

"Did not! It was you!"

"The first thing I think of when I hear weed is you two doofuses," Boromir interrupted, "so it's my turn—halflings."

"Hobbits," Merry corrected.

"Weed!" Pippin said brightly.

"No, you just did that," Boromir said.

"Fine," Pippin grumbled, "beer!"

"Snacks," Boromir said.

"E&Es!"

"Elves!"

"Leaves," Boromir said.

"Trees!"

"Monkeys!"

"Have you ever actually  _seen_  a monkey?" Merry wondered.

"That doesn't matter," Pippin said, "play the game!"

"Thumbs," Boromir interjected.

"Fingers?"

"Finger _ing_!"

"Pip, that does  _not_  count."

"Come on—"

"Boromir, what do you think?"

"No comment," he said, fighting back a laugh. It was still half a day to Rivendell, and he didn't want to know anything else about Merry and Pippin's sex lives. Still, at least they were  _fun_ —which was more than he could say for his last two road companions.

* * *

Merry and Pippin were both exhausted by the time Aragorn called them. Pippin sleepily turned his phone on speaker, shoving it in Boromir's direction before resting his head onto a snoring Merry's shoulder.

"Hello?" Boromir said.

"Boromir," Aragorn said, his voice tinny from the other side of the line. "Everything okay back there?"

"Merry and Pippin are still alive, if that's what you're asking," Boromir said.

"Conscious?"

"No," he admitted, "but they're just dozing, not knocked out or hallucinating."

"Good." Aragorn paused. Even though Boromir couldn't see him, he knew he was gazing broodily off into the setting sun. "We're getting close to the turnoff. Don't take the University exit—that's Lord Elrond's decoy city. The real Imladris is hidden with elvish magic."

"Of course it is," Boromir muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"I don't know what's waiting for us there," Aragorn said. "You and Legolas and Gimli may get some answers from Elrond. I hope Frodo can get medicine, and that this is the end of the adventure for the hobbits."

"And you?" Boromir challenged.

"I have a long road ahead of me."

Boromir scowled, glad Aragorn couldn't see his face. "The road to Gondor?"

More of that brooding silence. Boromir repressed a snort, resentment brewing in his heart. He could feel the veins in his neck pulse, his arm muscles tense. He forced himself to breathe deep and relax. He couldn't afford to succumb to the virus now.

"We shall see," Aragorn said at last.

Boromir sighed. "Anything else I should know?"

"Treat Lord Elrond with respect," Aragorn advised. "He is a good man, but he can be...sensitive."

"About his daughter, at least," said a muffled voice from the other end of the line.

"Shut up, Leg." There was the sound of a light slap, and Legolas yelped.

Pippin stirred, lifting his head up. "Wassup?" he mumbled.

"Oh, Pippin!" Aragorn said. "One thing for you and Merry— _please_ , try to be civil around Lord Elrond. No weed jokes, no antics, and don't—"

"Elrond?" Pippin said, furrowing his brows. His still-sleepy mind finally put two and two together and he snorted. "You mean, the guy from the candy?"

"Do  _not_  mention that around him," Aragorn said tiredly. "He hates that stupid brand..."

"Mmkay." Pippin leaned his head back down, drifting back to sleep.

"See you soon," Aragorn said. "Drive safe."

"Mmm." Boromir breathed out as the line went dead.

"I do not trust that man," he muttered to himself.

Merry kicked him in his sleep, and Boromir winced, focusing back on the road before him.

* * *

Their arrival in the secret glade of Rivendell was an exhausted blur in Boromir's mind. He remembered throwing a zonked-out Merry and Pippin each over one shoulder and carrying them to bed; he remembered bowing to a lordly elf who was probably Elrond; he remembered the still-catatonic Frodo being rushed away for medical care; he remembered collapsing into a soft bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

The next morning, he was woken by Merry and Pippin jumping on his bed and dragging him to his feet. They shoved a blunt into his hand, and the rest of the day was history. If he met anyone important, he was glad he couldn't remember it—he just wished they couldn't remember him, either.

He had vague recollections of tripping over himself as he bowed to Mithrandir, the Wizard distrusted by his father, and of Merry falling into a pool and having to be fished out by an elf so beautiful she literally glowed. Such encounters were accompanied by a deep feeling of paranoia and a strong belief that every elf around was watching him, so upon regaining his usual mental state Boromir wasn't quite sure what was real and what had been a product of the drug.

The second day in Rivendell was much easier to grasp. Boromir and the rest of their band of travelers feasted with Lord Elrond that evening (save Sam, who refused to leave Frodo's bedside).

"As soon as Mistress Baggins is back on her feet, we must convene as a council to discuss the fate of Middle-earth," Elrond said seriously.

"Bold words for a man in corduroy pants," Gimli muttered. "Elves. They forget this is the Third Age, not the first."

Boromir snorted softly in agreement.

"I grew to adulthood in the Second Age, Master Gimli," Elrond said with a cool stare. Boromir started guiltily; he'd forgotten how sharp elvish hearing could be. "And if I am old-fashioned it is because I remember the dangers of the olden days."

"Dangers that have found new strength now," Aragorn said. "This is serious. Frodo is on the mend, but with Nazgûl roaming free, orcs seen abroad, and a virus running amok... We ought to be cautious."

"A council it is, then," Gimli agreed. "My apologies, Lord Elrond. Though I do think you would look rather more handsome in a nice pair of slacks."

"I didn't know you could apologize," Legolas said snidely.

"When I am wrong—" Gimli began, but a new voice interrupted him.

"Petty arguments like those of your fathers only serve the purpose of the Enemy," boomed Mithrandir, striding into the room. "And I am afraid that I have no apologies for arriving late to supper; I have been busy with important matters."

Boromir blinked. "Mithrandir?" he said. "Wait—you're actually here?"

"I had an hour-long conversation with you and those rascals yesterday." Mithrandir huffed. "You don't have the decency to remember?"

"Well—" Boromir coughed, his cheeks flushing red.

"He was high as balls," Merry said. "First time—you know."

Lord Elrond cleared his throat. "Ahem. Welcome, Mithrandir. To supper, at least. I wish you had come to see me before now, considering you are staying in my house."

"I've been preparing my presentation for the Council," Mithrandir said, shoving a sandwich into his mouth. "You'd better get your asses ready. My PowerPoint is no high school project, unlike whatever boring material you all will slap together!"

"PowerPoint?" Legolas said, biting his lip. "Oh, dear."

"I expect top-tier work!" Mithrandir impressed. "From  _all_  of you!"

"Pip and I have got this,  _easy_ ," Merry scoffed. "Group projects were my favorite."

"Yeah, 'cuz you never did any of the work," Pippin quipped.

"You two are not invited to the Council," Elrond informed them. "And neither is Miss Gamgee."

"But—!" Merry protested. Pippin nudged him and leaned over to whisper something in his ear, and Merry clammed up. "Oh, fine," he grumbled.

Boromir narrowed his eyes. They were up to something, but he was quickly distracted as Mithrandir continued his tirade about the next day's presentations.

"If you haven't taken a communications course recently, you need to brush up," Mithrandir instructed. "Remember how to use graphics, and keep text—"

"We just need information," Elrond interrupted. "The intel you can give the Council is the most important thing. Mithrandir likes to go over the top with design, but don't let that daunt you."

"Well, I for one am not going to be outdone!" Gimli said, cracking his knuckles. He rose to his feet. "Legolas, you and I have PowerPoints to create. Come on."

"I'm not doing anything with you," Legolas protested, but he shuffled after the dwarf.

"I  _will_  outdo you all," Mithrandir said cheerfully, sauntering away. "But I would appreciate some class from the rest of you!"

Aragorn stood up, following Legolas and Gimli out the door. "I already claimed a blue theme," he called after them. "Be creative!"

Boromir pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the panic rising in his chest. PowerPoints? That meant technology. He hadn't dared touch any piece of tech but his laptop since escaping from Mordor, and the idea of sitting in a dark room with lights flashing and the virus spreading made his skin crawl.

"I guess I'd better get started," he muttered. The virus couldn't have gotten to Rivendell yet—their tech should be safe. PowerPoint was a registered trademark of Cidisoft, an elven company untouched by Barad-dûr. Still, the thought of getting too close to a computer gave him chills.

Boromir took a deep breath as he entered the computer lab. It was lit with the soft glow of a lamp, and was equipped with several couches—far cozier than his office back in Mordor or even the databanks in Osgiliath.

"Hello," greeted an elf woman. "How can I help you?"

Boromir glanced around. Legolas and Gimli sat at two computers, squabbling over something he couldn't quite catch, while Aragorn and Mithrandir were both absorbed in their work.

"I need to create a PowerPoint for the council tomorrow," he said slowly. "But I, uh...it's been awhile since I've done anything like that."

"I can walk you through it, if you want," the elf woman offered. "My name is Arwen. I'm Lord Elrond's daughter."

"Boromir," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Aragorn glanced up, narrowing his eyes as he saw Boromir. "Arwen, could you come over here?" he asked. "I want your opinion on which font looks better."

"Of course!" Arwen said. She left Boromir in a hurry, blushing as she leaned down beside Aragorn. Boromir rolled his eyes. Something was going on there, and he didn't care much for it.

With Arwen busy, he sat down at a computer by himself. Taking a deep breath, he powered it on and logged in using the guest username and password provided by a sticky note on top of the monitor.

Nothing untoward happened. He relaxed slightly. Of course Barad-dûr tech couldn't have come this far. Rivendell was safe. He was safe.

His wrist twitched violently, and a wave of fury washed through him. Boromir grabbed his arm and fought back his anger, holding himself still as possible. Even in a safe haven like Rivendell, he was still infected by the virus. He had to spread the word—before even places like this were overwhelmed.

PowerPoint loaded, and Boromir picked a theme, hunkering down to work. There was a lot for him to include in this presentation, and only so much time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cidisoft" is my version of "Microsoft"; according to [realelvish.net](http://realelvish.net/), "cidin" means "small" ... --> "micro".  
> part of merry and pippin's conversation was inspired by [ this tumblr post](https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/180646697572/penny-anna-boromir-meeting-pippin-for-the-first%22) by [@penny-anna](http://penny-anna.tumblr.com/) \- to be honest a lot of my merry & pippin characterization was inspired by that blog! thanks homie!  
> and if you want to support me, check out the fun button at the bottom of my blog that'll let you give me a little treat :o AND/OR let me know what you think in a comment! i truly, truly cannot stress how important comments are to my motivation - you are never bothering me by commenting!


	6. The Council of Elrond, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter relies pretty heavily on images, so in case you can't see them for a multitude of reasons, or if the hosting website fucks up, i've included image descriptions. if you don't need them, you can just skip right over them - there's no little jokes or anything in them, just information on what the images portray.  
> when necessary, i used images from peter jackson's lotr/hobbit movies for visual reference, but only because i can't draw my own appearance headcanons for characters + places! do not necessarily take those images as canon for appearances in this fic :)  
> and lastly thank you as always to my amazing beta, Buffintruda, I literally could not do this without you!!

The Council of Elrond was a decidedly elven affair, though it was conducted not in a clearing of falling leaves as the stereotypes led one to expect, but within an auditorium complete with balconies, mood lighting, and chairs so cushioned they might as well have been couches. Boromir was familiar with elven eccentricities—his ancestors modeled themselves after the Noldor, after all—but even he was unprepared for the levels of aesthetic in this meeting.

There must have been at least twenty elves present, filling on the first few rows of seats. Boromir tried his best to remember all of the elves' names, but compared to Aragorn (who knew them each personally and asked polite questions about how their children and spouses were doing), he was just some backcountry fool.

Well, he'd already abandoned most of his pride in this dreadful journey. The fact that Aragorn was better than him in every possible way only left a faint sting.

Save Frodo, none of the hobbits had been invited to the Council. As he settled into his seat at the end of the front row, Legolas and Gimli at his left, Boromir found himself missing Merry and Pippin terribly. Their spastic interjections certainly would have lightened the somber mood.

A portly gentleman leaned against the wall at Boromir's right, hiding mostly in the shadows of an enormous column. He wore a bulky trenchcoat that rivalled Mithrandir's in eccentricity. A large, broad-brimmed hat covered most of his face, and paired with his thick beard, made it almost impossible to discern anything other than his eyes. Boromir appraised him silently, wondering what such an odd-looking human was doing at this meeting.

At last, the lights of the auditorium dimmed. Lord Elrond and Mithrandir walked onstage, followed by Aragorn, Frodo, a vaguely familiar dwarf, and an aging hobbit. Boromir blinked, unsure of what they were doing there.

"Who is that?" he murmured.

"That's my cousin, Thorin Oakenshield," Gimli said proudly. "And, of course, his husband. Bilbo Baggins. Frodo's uncle."

Boromir nodded, suddenly understanding. Thorin's quest to reclaim Erebor had caused quite a media buzz in his father's youth, and he could remember the shocking day when Thorin announced his abdication as king and high-tailed it out of the country in an unprecedented elopement with some foreigner. Though he hadn't known that foreigner was a hobbit, let alone one related to Frodo.

"While you and those idiots were tripping balls, we got to catch up with them," Gimli said. "Legolas, Aragorn, and I, I mean. Sam didn't dare leave Frodo's bedside—it was hard enough tearing Bilbo away—and Mithrandir only showed yesterday morning."

He fell silent as Elrond cleared up throat. "Good morning," he began. "Thank you all for attending on such short notice. The matters discussed today are of great importance to all of Middle-earth, and I am honored to have such important guests lend their wisdom to the struggle of our times." He waited as the audience gave themselves a round of applause.

"Self-congratulatory idiots," Gimli growled. Legolas only shrugged.

"I now invite Mithrandir to begin his presentation," Elrond said, stepping aside.

Mithrandir rose to smatterings of applause, waving his hand at the audience as his PowerPoint Presentation began on the screen before them all.

[Image description: The title slide of a PowerPoint in the Headlines theme. The slide has a dark purple background with white details. A transparent image of the One Ring fills the right half of the slide. On the left side are the words "THE ONE RING HAS RETURNED" in large, impressive-looking heading font; it has the italicized subtitle "and what we can do about it" in a more basic but professional body text font below it. All font is the same off-white color. End image description.]

As the words appeared, several elves in the crowd gasped in horror. "No!" cried one, rising to her feet

"Read the  _subtitle_ ," Mithrandir exclaimed. "All is not yet lost!"

He clicked to the next slide.

[Image description: a body slide in the Headlines theme. The slide has an off-white background with a dark purple details. A transparent clipart river stretches across the bottom half of the slide. In dark purple font on the left side of the slide are the words "The One Ring: Origins" in the heading font; each word has its own line. In black font on the right side of the slide are the words, in bullet points "-Celebrimbor and Annatar", "-The War of the Last Alliance", and "-Isildur's Arrogance" the body text font. End image description.]

At the name "Isildur", Boromir's breath caught. He knew this story. It was of the founding of Gondor and the ruin of his ancestors. Upon the stage, he watched as Aragorn's knuckles clenched.

"Everyone here is familiar with this story," Mithrandir said flippantly, clicking to the next slide, "so I will not belabour it."

"I'm not," the man in the trenchcoat said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

"There's an exhibit in the museum on campus," Legolas hissed across the row. "They've got the shards of Narsil and everything."

[Image description: Another body slide. This slide has no body text, simply a heading that is centered in large heading text: "And thus the Ring was lost… fallen to the river's current. But times changed—and so did it…" A transparent clipart analog clock with dashes instead of numbers is centered with the hands emerging from the dot in the "i" of "times". End image description.]

[Image description: Another body slide. The heading reads "The Quest for Erebor." Instead of any body text, four images appear on the right side of the screen: headshots of Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins, and Gloin, as well as a large gray question mark. The headshots are taken from Peter Jackson's Hobbit movies. End image description.]

Gimli sat up straighter in his chair. "Wait—what does  _that_ have to do with this?" he muttered.

"I don't remember hearing a hobbit was on that quest," Boromir said with a frown.

"They hushed it up," Gimli explained. "It was bad for PR. What I want to know is how it's relevant now."

"I am sure you are all wondering how the Quest for Erebor plays into all of this," Mithrandir said. "Bilbo and Thorin are present here today and have given me permission to summarize their tale; they will verify my words."

"As long as you don't tell the embarrassing parts," Thorin rumbled.

"Dear, that would be all of it," Bilbo teased.

"While Thorin and Bilbo—and Master Gimli's esteeméd father, Glóin—were busy reclaiming Erebor, a foul creature lurked under the Misty Mountains."

"This foul creature was no orc," Mithrandir continued, "for it had a priceless secret..."

"He sounds like a novelist," Legolas muttered.

"Hush," Boromir whispered. He needed all the information he could get.

[Image description: The same slide as the previous image, except the question mark is gone and replaced with a headshot of Gollum. End image description.]

[Image description: The same slide as in the previous image, except all of the headshots except for Gollum's have disappeared. Gollum's headshot has been enlarged to fill the whole right side of the slide. End image description.]

"This creature, hereafter to be known as Gollum, possessed a ring of massive magical power," Mithrandir said. "From my research and the firsthand account of Bilbo Baggins, I gathered evidence that Gollum was was descended from some faction of hobbits, and that this ring of power was none other than  _the_  Ring of Power."

[Image description: A close up picture of the One Ring atop a map of Middle-earth. This fills the entire slide. End image description.]

A murmur of horror swept through the crowd of elves. Next to him, the tall bearded gentleman frowned. "What?" he said.

"Shh!" Boromir hissed. His mind worked in overdrive trying to piece together what this are mean. The One Ring... Boromir blinked. That reminded him of another phrase, "Isildur's Bane," from that anonymous email... He refocused as Mithrandir continued.

"Over the course of his journeys, Bilbo acquired this Ring from Gollum," Mithrandir said. "Of course, no one realized that at the time. By the time I had an inkling of what truly was going on, the Ring had changed its form. In fact, it had not been a 'Ring' at all for some years. Gollum had, in fact, been in possession of a flashdrive!"

[Image description: A close up picture of a gold ring on a wooden table. The ring is square in shape, and a flap is open revealing that it is a flashdrive as well as a ring. This fills the entire slide. End image description.]

Boromir's fists clenched involuntarily. He ducked his head, beginning to sweat. Oh, no. Oh,  _no_.

"A flashdrive?" Legolas wondered. "What?"

"In the modern era, a golden ring was not only gaudy and conspicuous, it was ineffective," Mithrandir explained. "Though separated from its master, the Flashdrive still contained enormous influence over the weak-minded. Gollum used it in his own... _perverse_  ways, but once Bilbo took possession of this item, the Flashdrive had access to the world outside of the Misty Mountains."

"Not that I did much with it," Bilbo said, though his laugh was a little  _too_  guilty for Boromir's comfort. "Just hacking into some Facescroll accounts of particularly frustrating relatives."

"By the time Bilbo and Thorin retired from the Shire to Rivendell some years ago, I had my suspicions about this item," Mithrandir said. "Thankfully, it was bequeathed to Frodo, an innocent enough lass. I thought I could buy some time to look into the matter. As soon as I realized the full extent of the Flashdrive's past connection to Sauron, I contacted her right away and instructed her to make haste to Rivendell. In the meantime, I thought I could reach out to an ally for help. I was..." His face darkened. "Mistaken."

"Sauron?" whispered the bearded gentleman. "But...he was defeated!"

Boromir laughed hoarsely. "That's what he wants you to think."

[Image description: A body slide. Centered heading text reads, "Isengard: Tower of Lies". Below the title is an image of Isengard from a distance, taken from Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies. End image description.]

"I went to Isengard," Mithrandir said. "Saruman the Wise, they called its master. But he is master of the Tower of Lies—which quickly became apparent upon my surprise visit. I saw...horrid things."

[Image description: A closer picture of Isengard against a stormy sky. The tower is in the center of the image; all around it stands a massive army of orcs. Many orcs are carrying huge pikes that rise up into the air. The image is taken from Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings movies. This fills the entire slide. End image description.]

"Saruman has turned to serve the Enemy," Mithrandir revealed.

A shocked gasp ran through the crowd. "What?" Boromir exclaimed, half-rising to his feet. He had to contact his father immediately—if he was unaware of this, Gondor could be attacked at any moment...!

"But that is not all," Mithrandir said gravely. "These are no ordinary warriors—they are men at times, but when enraged, they transform into grotesque creatures. They become evil beings, infected monsters, controlled by some sort of application on their phones—they become orcs!"

[Image description: A body slide. No text is on this slide. Two images of orcs are pictured. On the right side is an image of a singular orc from the chest up; it is wearing a helmet and has its mouth open to show its fangs. On the left side is an image of several orcs in full-body armor; they are standing in a diagonal line, holding pikes. End image description.]

"No!" cried one elf. Several others echoed their sentiment; the crowd went wild with horror.

"But I thought they were extinct!" said the bearded gentleman. Only, he spoke not from his mouth, but from his midsection. If Boromir was not so upset by the chaos all around him, he would have been concerned.

"I know not how this came to be," Mithrandir declared, "but this council has been organized partially for us to share such information. Frodo has made it here with the Flashdrive, and several other concerned parties have also convened here with further knowledge. Aragorn is not the least among them; I am certain he may shed much more light on this subject."

"Are you not among the Wise?" Boromir challenged, rising to his feet. "Why do you know so little?"

"Saruman detained me," Mithrandir said with a sharp stare to him. "I eventually managed to send a message to the Eagles and escaped with their aid, but I was not prepared to mine for information."

"I didn't know eagles could text," the bearded gentleman pondered, stroking his beard awkwardly.

"They can't," Mithrandir said with a withering glare. "They don't have fingers. I used a moth, obviously."

"That was probably the wisest thing you did," Boromir snapped. "Technology is not safe anymore."

"Then I invite you to elaborate, Master Boromir," Mithrandir said coolly. "I know you also have a presentation prepared. Please...share  _your_  wisdom."

Boromir huffed, but marched up to the stage. He nodded to the Arwen, who stood operating the monitor. "I saved my presentation under my name," he informed her.

"Of course," she said, clicking to the correct document.

Boromir coughed, waiting for his presentation to appear on the grand screen. Staring out into the audience, he recalled the days of his youth, auditioning for theater in Gondor. That was never his strength; his sister had always been the better performer. She ought to be here alongside him.

"Before we begin," he prefaced, "I have to warn you that this is all highly classified information. No word of this presentation leaves this room; the King's l—" He broke off, glancing to Aragorn for half a second. "The laws of Gondor are strict. Please, do not betray the Steward's confidence in Rivendell."

"Of course," Elrond murmured.

[Image description: The title slide of a PowerPoint in the Parallax theme. The slide has a gray-white background with two thick gray and red diagonal stripes on its left side. Slightly to the right of the stripes is a transparent image of a bright red circular stamp. The stamp reads "TOP SECRET" on the top and bottom of the circle, with "CONFIDENTIAL" in a stripe across the middle; above and below that word are three stars. On the right side of the slide is are the words "INTELLIGENCE ON THE BARAD-DÛR CORPORATION" in large stenciled title font. Below that are the words "Compiled by Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, Intelligence Agent" in official, typewriter-esque body font. End image description.]

"My father, Lord Denethor of Gondor, has been keeping careful watch over the land of Mordor his entire life," Boromir began. "Since the War of the Last Alliance and Sauron's supposed defeat, my ancestors have not trusted the new management behind the Black Gate. We have several spies in Mairon's system—at least, we  _had_  several spies. In recent times, they have all perished."

"May their souls find rest," murmured Aragorn.

Boromir bowed his head briefly, then clicked to the next slide.

[Image description: A body slide in the Parallax theme. The slide has a gray-white background with two thin gray and red diagonal stripes on its left side. There is a heading in the title font that reads "OSGILIATH AFFAIR". Below the title is the following text in the body font, with circular bullet points:  
"- June 19, 3017: Robbery at Osgiliath  
[indented] - Coincides with anonymous E-Mail message sent to private government account  
\- June 20, 3017: Investigation opened into Osgiliath Affair  
\- June 22, 3017: Agents MIA  
\- June 26, 3017: 1 agent returns to Osgiliath, in an altered form"  
End image description.]

"Our suspicions had been raised by several isolated incidents of the previous years," he said. "Small robberies, mostly; a few months prior to this event, there was an assault on one of our agents in Mordor. She survived, but suffered brain damage enough to render her memories of the situation unusable."

As he spoke of his sister's injuries, Boromir's stomach twisted with anger. Mira had begged and begged to be allowed out into the field, and only a few weeks later she'd been injured. Now she was confined to a bed while she recovered, resented by their father even more than usual.

He pushed aside his thoughts and continued. If he could do this right, if he could gain aid from Rivendell, he could help the world and Mira at the same time.

"On June 19th, 3017, a major robbery occurred at Gondor's outpost in Osgiliath," Boromir said. "The welfare distribution center was trashed; food and clothes were stolen. But that was only a distraction—the real loss came in the form of data. Confidential information, not only about Gondor's citizens but our secret military operations, disappeared."

"What's this about an email?" Elrond asked, frowning.

Boromir clicked to the next slide.

[Image description: Another body slide. Instead of any text, this slide features a screenshot of an email. The email has a white background. The title reads "omen" in a basic font; beside it is a marker that indicates this message is in the inbox. Below the title is the sender information: "anonymous xxdrmlrd.004 " and below that are the words "to me". Beside the sender information is a gray octagon with a red question mark inside it. The body of the email is as follows:  
"seek for the truth that was broken:  
in the hidden vale it dwells;  
there shall be counsels taken  
stronger than sickness and spells.  
there shall be shown a token  
that Doom is near at hand,  
for Isildur's Bane shall waken  
and the nine heroes then shall stand."  
Below this text are two boxes; one has the text "Reply" with an arrow pointing left, and the other has the text "Forward" with an arrow pointing right. End image description.]

"That same night, an agent of ours received a tip-off email from an anonymous source. Unfortunately, it didn't make it through the ranks of our staff quick enough to stop the attack in Osgiliath, but it did give us some insight."

Of course, it  _should_  have made it through. If his father had listened to Mira when she alerted him... But Denethor had a lot on his mind. It hadn't been malicious, even if the cost would prove deadly.

"It was a cryptic, coded message," Boromir said. "A poem of sorts." He cleared his throat to read the poem, but a soft voice interrupted him.

" _Seek for the truth that was broken:  
__In the hidden vale it dwells;  
__There shall be counsels taken  
__Stronger than sickness and spells.  
__There shall be shown a token  
__That Doom is near at hand,  
__For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
__And the nine heroes then shall stand."_

Boromir stared at Frodo for a moment. She averted her eyes from his gaze, her hands shaking slightly. Bilbo reached around to wrap a comforting arm around his niece.

"Thank you, Miss Baggins," Boromir said gruffly. "This was a mystery to us at first. Our agent managed to decipher pieces of it—pieces that pointed here, to Rivendell. 'Sickness and spells' refers to matters slightly more obvious at the time. Foul magic was used to assault Osgiliath—" his voice darkened— "and I would see plenty of sickness in the days to come."

He clicked one slide backward.

[Image description: The same as the frist body slide. There is a heading in the title font that reads "OSGILIATH AFFAIR". Below the title is the following text in the body font, with circular bullet points:  
"- June 19, 3017: Robbery at Osgiliath  
[indented] - Coincides with anonymous E-Mail message sent to private government account  
\- June 20, 3017: Investigation opened into Osgiliath Affair  
\- June 22, 3017: Agents MIA  
\- June 26, 3017: 1 agent returns to Osgiliath, in an altered form"  
End image description.]

"June 20th, 3017. The morning after the Osgiliath Affair, as we called it, was hectic. Among the chaos of reorganizing the welfare center and inventorizing what remained, a secret investigation was opened. Three highly trained agents, personal friends of mine, were put on the case. It quickly became apparent that this was no ordinary break-in. There was corporate motivation behind the stolen data, and all the files on our investigations into Mordor and Barad-dûr, Inc. had vanished.

"The agents went undercover into Mordor, posing as delivery drivers. These men were at the top of their field. They'd survived countless life-or-death situations. They were hard, experienced men— _good_  men." Boromir's voice lowered to husky growl. "The Steward placed his absolute trust in them."

He paused, taking a quick breath.

"Two days later they disappeared."

A murmur of concern spread throughout the crowd. Down in the front row, he could see Gimli sniffling a little. Boromir's confidence grew; he could still give a compelling monologue even after all this time!

"They were declared Missing In Action after 24 hours of no response," Boromir continued, forcing himself to be brisk. "This kind of thing had happened before, but only under dire circumstances. By June 26, we were about to send in an extraction team into Mordor when one of our agents showed up in the canal at Osgiliath, barely breathing."

"Oh dear," said Bilbo.

"This agent was alive, but only just," Boromir said. He tried to block out the image of his friend's ragged breaths, his bloodied fingers, the bone protruding from his leg. "While still in critical condition, he revealed that he and his two companions had been caught the day they went silent, and taken up to the CEO's tower. They didn't see the man himself, but it was explicitly clear that Mairon was orchestrating everything."

He nodded to Mithrandir. "There were orcs there, too. This is not an isolated phenomena. In fact—" he swallowed— "after an hour of medical attention and a jumbled report, our agent... _changed_. He—he became an orc. It was...grotesque."

Someone in the audience hissed; another person gasped. Boromir grimaced. They had no idea how much worse it was going to get.

"I saw him transform with my own eyes," Boromir continued. "He was only in this state for a few minutes before the doctor tranquilized him. Before we could gain any more information from him or understand how that had happened, his heart stopped. His dead body morphed back into its human form, but it was too late."

Gimli was openly weeping now. He reached over and wiped his eyes on Legolas's billowing sleeves (he was wearing a bright green jumpsuit that was a least three sizes too big for him). The elf was too distracted by the story of the Osgiliath Affair to even notice. His eyes were wide, glued to the screen, his mouth hanging slightly open. At the edge of the row, the bearded gentleman swayed back and forth like he was going to be ill.

Boromir skipped ahead to the next slide.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "SYMPTOMS". The body text reads as follows:  
"- Mood swings  
\- Itching, often described as being "beneath the skin"  
\- Growling/grunting, congestion  
\- Sores on the skin  
\- Eventually, physical transformation into orc form  
[indented] - Triggered by strong emotional responses to both external and internal stimuli"  
End image description.]

"That same day, an orc in a Barad-dûr truck was captured. He, too, perished, but not before we grasped that this evil magic was transmitted like a virus. Over the next several days, using DNA samples from both specimens and taking into account what we knew about orc biology from the Second Age and our historians' knowledge about Sauron's spells, we pieced together a few things."

"This is entitled 'Symptoms'," Mithrandir interrupted. "Could you expand on that?"

"It is like a disease," Boromir explained. "These are a few symptoms that precede the transformation, gathered from our research and from further investigation and, ah... _firsthand_  experience." He scratched his thumb nervously. "Mood swings are the first sign. The victim will go from being completely composed to wildly upset to furious."

"But surely mood swings are indicative of a more neurological disorder," an elf from the crowd pointed out.

"That's not all," Boromir said darkly. "Your skin starts to itch; that's the worst part. It feels like there's bugs burrowing into your skin, or like your blood's boiling. I'm no scientist, but I think that's the skin and muscle readjusting itself. Melting, softening, in preparation for the change."

"That's impossible," the elf blustered.

Boromir ignored them, feeling his heart pound faster. "It's hard to talk. Your words come out in growls and grunts. Your tongue is what changes first—it's difficult to communicate. And your nose clogs up—orc noses aren't like ours." He noticed the alarm on the faces of the audience, but he found he couldn't stop himself from describing the gory details: "They can smell far better, but they're more sensitive. It's less of a physical block like phlegm or dust and more of an overload of the olfactory glands."

"Boromir," Elrond said gently. "Are you alright?"

Boromir took a deep breath. Without realizing it, he had begun to grow agitated, shifting from foot to foot, his voice deepening into his own growl, his face flushing.  _No_ —this could  _not_  happen now. He had to tell his story in full. He could control himself. He had to.

"I am fine, thank you," he said slowly. "Furthermore. Sores appear on the skin. I believe this is connected to the itching I described earlier. And finally, the victim transforms entirely into an orc. All these symptoms are sudden, immediate responses to strong emotional stimuli. The change can take anywhere from a few seconds to a full hour, depending on the intensity of the infection and the constitution of the victim."

"And you've had many opportunities to observe this?" Frodo asked in a hushed tone.

"I'll get to that," Boromir said, clicking to the next slide.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "OPERATION: BROKEN TRUTH". The body text reads as follows:  
"- July 02, 3017: Operation launched  
\- August 05, 3018: Marion conclusively proved to be Sauron  
\- September 23, 3017: Agent 03 compromised  
\- September 24, 3017: Agent 04 compromised  
\- September 26, 3017: Agent 02 & 05 compromised  
\- September 27, 3017: Agent 01 promoted  
\- September 30, 3017: Agent 01 compromised; Agent 01 flees"  
End image description.]

Upon seeing the words "Operation: Broken Truth" on the screen, the bearded gentleman let out a snort of laughter. The entire room turned to glare at him in disapproval.

"Um," he said in that forced growl. "Apologies. It's just—broken truth is a dumb fu—it's a dumb freaking name."

"The Steward derived it from the emailed poem," Boromir said. "At this point, we had received it multiple times, exactly the same wording, from a different proxy address each time. It was too insistent to ignore, and it seemed to be a warning. My father—the Steward is a religious man. He believes it is a sign from the Gods."

"He can go on believing," Thorin muttered, so quiet Boromir almost didn't hear it. Bilbo elbowed his husband.

"Operation: Broken Truth was launched as soon as we had gathered enough information and resources," Boromir said. "Five agents went out into the field to discover what Sauron is up to and how to stop it. I was their captain, Agent 01." Normally Mira would have accompanied him, but after her injury in April, she couldn't.

"We infiltrated Barad-dûr, Inc. beginning July 2nd," he continued. "We posed as new recruits to create the least amount of suspicion. The first month was incredibly boring, monotonous office work, nothing worrying at all. It wasn't until August 5th that I discovered something alarming. While taking a break, I noticed a scuffle in the bathroom. An orc stumbled out of a stall, and I followed it upstairs to a door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only'. It ran inside, and I only heard a few words of grunted conversation between it and whoever else was beyond the threshold—but the one that stuck out was 'Sauron,' talking about the CEO."

"I thought you already knew Mairon was actually Sauron," Legolas pointed out.

"This was confirmation." Boromir scowled. "I attempted to sneak into that room once, but I was caught by a higher-ranking employee. I made up some excuse and escaped, but it was clear that they were keeping a very close eye on whatever was in there."

"What do you mean by 'compromised'?" Gimli asked.

"In the ensuing two months, I instructed my team to conduct their own investigations into that room," Boromir said. "We were all extremely careful, and the information we gleaned was minimal. Meanwhile, back in Gondor, everything had gone quiet. It was as if Sauron knew we were watching his every move." He laughed hollowly. "No, not 'as if'. He knew."

The audience was silent, staring at him with rapt attention. Boromir grew emboldened by their response to his story. Maybe Mira had been the more dramatic sibling, but high school theater had never really left him, either.

"When I say 'compromised', I mean that my agents were taken into that room," Boromir said. "Agent 03 was the first to go. She snuck in, but never came back out. The next day, the same thing happened to Agent 04 when they went to look for her. Two days later, Agents 02 and 05 were snatched right out of their desks. And the day after that, they brought me in there, too."

"No," the bearded man said, entranced.

"The room was literally a conference chamber," Boromir said. "I was extremely disappointed. I wanted to rescue my agents, who had doubtless been discovered, but instead I was offered a raise! A junior management position, overseeing USB storage development!" He snorted. "I accepted, of course. I didn't have much choice."

"But your slide says you were compromised, too," Mithrandir pointed out.

"September 30th." Boromir sighed. "The first day of my new position. I was summoned back into that room, told I needed to complete some online training. I sat down at a company computer, and by the time I finished the first section, I knew something was up. There had been little static shocks since I began, nothing major, but noticeable. After the third video, I was shaking. My skin itched furiously. My throat was swollen, my nose clogged. I was angrier in that moment than I'd ever been. And then—I transformed into an orc myself."

A cry of outrage came from the crowd. "We let this monster into our haven?" yelled an elf. Several others shouted their distress as well, until the whole room was a chorus of fury.

Boromir stepped back, closing his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to maintain his composure. He could  _not_  transform now—he could  _not_  transform now—he could  _not_ —

"Enough!" bellowed Elrond, rising to his feet. "Enough. Boromir is an honored guest, sharing  _extremely_  valuable information in the fight against Sauron. Treat him with  _respect_. He is a representative of Gondor, one of our greatest allies, and he and his country suffered  _immensely_  to aid our cause."

"Thank you, my lord," Boromir mumbled. He took a few more deep breaths as the crowd settled down. Out in the audience, Legolas gave him two thumbs up, and Gimli winked.

"You've got this," Aragorn murmured. It was the first thing he'd said in a while. Boromir almost wished he'd stayed quiet. He didn't want to be comforted by that usurper.

But nonetheless, he began again.

"I passed out quickly," he said. "When I came to, I was strapped to an operating table. Six other bodies were on different tables around me. I recognized all of them. Two were long dead, preserved by some foul magic—the other two agents from the first investigation. The rest were my team. Only Agent 04 was still alive. They were half-transformed, glitching in and out of human and orc."

"How did you escape?" Mithrandir asked.

"A doctor came to me," he said. "He told me I'd suffered a workplace accident, that my memories had been damaged. I played dumb. I knew that wasn't true. My sis—the other agent whose memories had been been damaged had different symptoms than me. I knew the difference.

"The doctor unstrapped me and told me that I was going to be alright. That the other people in the room were recovering, even though that obviously wasn't true. He said that I was fit to return to work, and that there would be several people closely monitoring my progress. To help, he claimed. In case of a relapse. He didn't say of what.

"I thanked him and went on my way, escorted by two guards. One I recognized as the man from the bathroom earlier, the person who drew my attention to the door in the first place. I got back to work at my desk—from before the false promotion—and behaved as normally as I could.

"On my first break, I snuck back into the conference chamber. Thankfully, it was empty. I hacked into the manager's computer and, using a USB device from my department, downloaded as much information as I could. Security alarms started to go off, and I bolted.

"I couldn't stay. I strolled down to the driving facility and talked my way into borrowing a truck for the day on company business. They hadn't altered my ID yet, so it checked out. I got in the truck, stuck the USB into my personal laptop, and got the hell out of Mordor. By the time they figured out what had happened, I was halfway to Rhûn."

"And what information did you gain from hacking into the computer?" Elrond inquired.

Boromir paused before he switched to the next slide. "I've already told you all a lot, but I must impress that this is highly classified information. This next part especially."

"We understand," Elrond assured him.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "THE VIRUS". The body text reads as follows:  
"CLASSIFIED INFORMATION  
\- Transmitted first through syringe; developed to be technomancically spread  
\- All Barad-dûr tech compromised  
\- If successful, all Middle-earth to become orc slaves to Sauron"  
End image description.]

"The Virus," Boromir read. "That's what they're calling it. It's a mind control drug, originally. Barad-dûr's been dosing their employees with it for decades now, maybe even centuries. The records don't go back that far."

"What about the orc thing?" Legolas asked.

"That was a more recent addition." Boromir shook his head. "That's what makes it so dangerous. Thankfully, this virus isn't spread from contact with an infected victim—so don't worry if you shook my hand earlier. It was originally given in doses via syringe, but in the past year breakthroughs in technomancy allowed it to transmitted through electric shocks given by technology. They're small, almost unnoticeable. By now, they're probably even less so even than the ones I received."

" _All_  Barad-dûr tech is compromised?" Arwen said nervously.

"What, have you been buying from Mordor?" Boromir said scathingly. "You elves have never trusted Mairon. Don't play fool with me."

"No, but—" Arwen frowned. "A vast portion of the populace does use their products."

"That's what makes it so dangerous," Boromir said. "Barad-dûr has been building their brand ever since the War of the Last Alliance. They're trusted now. All of their  _new_  technology, all the cutting edge stuff, will come packaged with the virus in it. It will roll out slowly, until the whole world is infected. Overrun with orcs, slaves to Sauron."

"We have to stop this," Gimli exclaimed, rising to his feet. "We must attack Mordor!"

"No, you idiot," Legolas said scornfully. "We'll be defeated easily. And we don't have a legal pretext—"

"Since when are  _you_  a lawyer, actor-boy?" Gimli snapped.

"I passed the bar about thirty years ago," Legolas said, sticking his nose in the air. "That's one of my degrees—which I earned  _here_ , at Imladris U!"

"What are your other ones? Assholery and snobbishness?" Gimli demanded. "If we  _don't_  attack Mordor—!"

Legolas sprang to his feet, leaning down to glare at him. Boromir coughed loudly. With a start, the two remembered where they were and huffily sat back down.

"One does not simply  _walk_  into Mordor," he admonished. "I've been there. I've  _worked_  there. It took great effort to infiltrate Barad-dûr, and we failed at the cost of our lives. This is a serious undertaking." He clicked to the next slide.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "THE KEY". The body text reads as follows:  
"CLASSIFIED INFORMATION  
\- Missing component: "The Key"  
\- Possibly analogous to "Isildur's Bane"  
\- If retrieved by Barad-dûr, able to spread the virus at irreversible speed  
\- Theory: Possible mind control (widespread)  
\- Theory: Permanent transformation"  
End image description.]

"We can't attack Mordor outright," he admitted, "but we can still fight them. There's only one reason Mordor isn't controlling all of us already. They're missing something, which I've started calling 'The Key'."

"What is this 'Key'?" Aragorn asked.

"I am not positive," Boromir admitted, "but from context clues, I'm guessing it's some missing code in the virus's system. You see, it took them a long time to perfect this blend of magic and tech. They could only do it separately, and combining it only killed their subjects. They finally hit on the right chemicals and coding and conjurations, but it was extremely localized. The agents they kidnapped were test subjects for the new Virus. I believe I was one of the more successful survivors—I've learned a little about controlling it, and I recovered from the initial infection with ease."

"But the Key," Aragorn pressed.

"The Key will perfect the combination," Boromir said. "It's ancient in origin, something primarily magical. If it is retrieved by Sauron and implemented into the Virus's schematics, I believe he will be able to spread the virus across Middle-earth with irreversible speed. I don't know if the Virus can be counteracted once you've been infected, and if it is in any way fatal, but with the Key, Sauron may be able to make the change to orc permanent, and control individual minds instead of implementing broad brainwashing over his employees. Or let's be honest—slaves."

"What's this about Isildur's Bane?" Frodo asked quietly.

"Ah, yes," Boromir said. "That cryptic line from the poem. I've got the whole damn thing memorized by now. It goes like, ' _There shall be shown a token / That Doom is near at hand, / For Isildur's Bane shall waken, / And the nine heroes then shall stand.'_  My interpretation is as good as yours, but the downfall of Isildur was—well, now I have an idea. It was the Ring, wasn't it?"

"The Flashdrive," Mithrandir said, nodding. "Exactly as I feared. Sauron wants his Ring back. He may not know it's become a Flashdrive, but he craves its power. It holds a piece of himself in it, and if he regains his full might...we shall all perish, through this Virus and its Key or otherwise."

Boromir clicked to the next slide. A quick glance told him he didn't need to expound on this information.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "EXIT ROUTE". The body text reads as follows:  
"- October 1, 3017: Agent 01 departs Mordor; sets out for Rivendell  
\- October 14, 3017: Pit-stop in Dale  
\- October 19, 3017: Stop along the Greenway; encounter with Aragorn & the hobbits  
\- October 20, 3017: Arrival in Rivendell  
\- October 23, 3017: Today's council"  
End image description.]

"The rest of my journey can be summed up quickly," Boromir said. "I finally deciphered that the 'hidden vale' meant Rivendell, and the 'counsels taken' would be something that could help me. I wanted Lord Elrond's advice, but I understand now that this all is vital counsel. I set my courses towards here."

"You went to Dale?" Mithrandir said. "That is...not a very direct route."

"I got lost," Boromir muttered. "I had a lot to think about." He coughed, then spoke up. "In Dale I met Legolas and Gimli, who have their own tales to tell, I am sure. And then just a few days ago we ran into Aragorn and the hobbits. I know little about their misadventures, save that poor Miss Frodo was injured. And that brings us up to date." He gave an awkward half-bow.

"Thank you, Boromir," Elrond said, nodding. "You may be seated, unless you have anything else...?"

"No, that's all for now," he said. He nodded as the crowd clapped half-heartedly, relieved to sit back down. That hadn't gone too bad, but he much preferred being an audience member than a performer. That was why he'd gone on to tech more shows than perform in them once Mira was old enough to join the drama club.

"We have a few more presentations before I open up a discussion," Elrond said. "Master Gimli, would you like to go next?"

Gimli stood, puffing out his chest. "Yes, of course." He pranced up the steps. Boromir's lips quivered as he repressed a smile; they were not built for stubby little dwarf legs, but Gimli still made the movements look graceful.

Beside him, the bearded gentleman didn't even try. He laughed loudly, shaking more in the middle than at his shoulders. Boromir frowned, inspecting the oddly lumpy coat. Something was off about this man, but he couldn't quite...

He was interrupted as Gimli's presentation began.

[Image description: The title slide of a PowerPoint in the Facet theme. The slide has a white background with several overlapping stripes of varying shades of green on the right side; only one green stripe runs across the top of the left side. On the right side of the slide are the words "ASSETS PROVIDED BY EREBOR (IN AN UNOFFICIAL CAPACITY)" in Goudy Stout font. Below that are the words "Gimli, Son of Glóin" in a basic font. End image description.]

"This is less of a debriefing and more of a proposition," Gimli said, tugging at his beard a little self-consciously. "There's something about this whole situation that tells me a quest is in the air, and I want to be sure everyone here knows that while I may be the only dwarf present—besides Cousin Thorin—my people stand with yours."

"We had no doubts, Master Gimli," Elrond said firmly. He cast a glare into the audience, as if reprimanding those elves who may have felt differently.

"Assets provided by Erebor, in an unofficial capacity," Gimli read off the screen. "Presented by myself: Gimli, son of Glóin, and again—I have to stress this— _unofficial_  representative of the kingdom of Erebor."

[Image description: A body slide in the Facet theme. The slide's background is the same as the title slide, except the green stripe on the left side is now in the bottom corner. The slide is titled "The Basics" in a basic font. Below the title is the following text (in the same font), with triangular bullet points.  
"- I moved out recently to my own apartment in Dale. It wasn't working out the way I expected, and finding a job is nearly impossible. I ended up working as a cashier for a pawn shop…not my ideal situation, especially considering my aspirations for my career.  
\- My father (Glóin, son of Gróin) gave me an allowance but I think it will take me a little bit to learn how to balance a budget. Still, I was doing just fine.  
\- But living in the shadow of my father's grand deeds was grating. Sure, I love him and my Mom but I want to make my own destiny, you know? That's why I moved out. Erebor's great, but I needed to come into a career and some cash before I could make a mark there.  
\- The political climate in Erebor is fraught right now. I'll go into more detail on the next slide."  
End image description.]

Boromir blinked, overwhelmed by the amount of words on the slide. Even he knew that the best tactic for presenting information was to expand on short bullet points, not to throw a bunch of words at your audience.

"Here are the basics of my side of the story," Gimli began, facing the screen. "I moved out recently to my own apartment in Dale. It wasn't working out the way I expected, and finding a job is..."

On he went, reading directly from the slide. Boromir skimmed his paragraphs before he finished reading off them, then waited impatiently for him to finish. None of this personal background  _mattered_ , especially not if he was trying to get in on this quest. So far, there were no "assets" offered.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Ereborian Politics". The body text reads as follows:  
"- I am honored to reunite with my Cousin Thorin here in Rivendell. As the former King of Erebor, he restored our homeland (with my father) (and Bilbo Baggins) and established order under the mountain.  
\- Of course, when he abdicated the throne, that caused a whole mess of problems. My father was one of the chief advisors to the new King, Dáin, as he sorted out the problems.  
\- People still are frustrated that Dáin is King and not one of Thorin's more direct heirs. Kíli, of course, can't be King because he's married to an elf and has dwelf kids who can't be his heirs. It's kind of a messed up policy, but seriously. Elf blood in the Line of Durin? Nope.  
\- And Fíli is just as bad in the eyes of some folk for working with Círdan the Elf at ISTA, going up in space instead of ruling. Elfism is real in Erebor, y'all."  
End image description.]

"Ereborian politics." Gimli grimaced. "This gets a little hairy."

In the audience, Legolas snorted. Gimli winked. "Pun intended." Flustered, Legolas looked down, muttering something under his breath. Boromir raised an eyebrow. Maybe Pippin had a point about those two...

Gimli went through the same tedious process of reading every word of his slide aloud to the audience. "Elfism is real in Erebor, y'all," he concluded with a serious face.

A chuckle spread through the crowd of elves. Gimli smiled briefly, and Boromir suddenly understood what he was doing. By giving them background on himself and bringing up things he had in common with them, Gimli was charming the elves. The mention of Thorin's presence in Rivendell for all these years, Fíli and Kíli's affiliation with elves, jokes about speciesism... The elves were developing a sympathy for him.

Boromir nodded appreciatively. "I've got to admit, he's smart," he murmured to Legolas. "Behind all this show of humility and the down-to-earth persona, he's winning over all these elves."

"Not this elf," Legolas grumbled.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Ereborian Politics Cont." The body text reads as follows:  
"- I don't blame my kinsfolk for their prejudice, at least not entirely. Most of the elves I've met, especially on this adventure, are really nice people, but there's a few that give a bad impression the whole species. Mostly just the one, though. And he's awful.  
\- Anyway, back to the point.  
\- The Line of Durin has been keeping a pretty close eye on Barad-dûr, Inc. over the years. Thorin especially was concerned about Mairon's rise in popularity. I always preferred dwarven tech myself, as to most folk under the mountain, but there's no denying Mairon's got the upper hand recently.  
\- It's unfortunate that coincided with the current campaign to dethrone Dáin. There's a group of dwarves who want a new King. One of themselves, probably. Though a couple are proposing Lady Dís take the throne as Queen Under the Mountain. No doubt she'd be highly competent, but she turned down the responsibility when Thorin abdicated and has no interest in ruling."  
End image description.]

"I wish I was done with all this political mess," Gimli continued, "but—"

"It's a relief to live a quiet life," Thorin agreed. "Get out while you're young, Gimli. I know a few hobbits I could set you up with."

Gimli forced out a laugh. "Thank you, Cousin, but I think I can manage. And if I was going to marry outside my species, I'd like to consider  _all_  my options."

He cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, politics never rests. I can't blame all my kinfolk for their prejudice against the Eldar. The elves  _I've_  run into are mostly nice folk, except for one or two, and they give a bad impression of the whole species. Mostly just the one, though. And he's  _awful_." He made direct eye contact with Legolas, then winked.

Legolas turned bright red and pulled the collar of his jumpsuit over his nose. The bearded gentleman let out a wheezy laugh, and Boromir couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I do apologize for how my brethren treat you lovely folks," Gimli continued, "Legolas notwithstanding. Erebor has had its own share of troubles..."

Gimli blustered on about the political situation in Erebor, boring Boromir. It was nothing too dire; it would all sort itself out eventually. And it didn't offer anything to the quest or the elves of Rivendell, aside from perhaps a snort of amusement here and there. It was gossip more than anything else.

His thoughts drifted. Legolas had sunk low into his chair, his long hair falling into his face. Boromir wondered what he thought of all this, and what his presentation would be like.

A muffled sneeze came from the bearded gentleman's stomach. Boromir glanced over to him curiously. It was almost as if this man was... He groaned. Oh, dear. He had an idea of what was going on. The bearded gentleman was not what he seemed. He was actually—

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "So what does it Mean?" The body text reads as follows:  
"- Therefore Dáin had to refocus his efforts away from Mordor. Looks like that was the time Mairon was waiting for, because it was only a couple of months ago.  
\- Erebor isn't involved in this mission on an official capacity, but I believe that if I reach out to contact my father (and Dáin) they will help to fund our efforts to fight the grave evils we face.  
\- I am adept in wielding an axe, I believe myself to be a convincing gentleman, and if any quest is about to be undertaken, I would be honored to represent not only Erebor but the entire dwarven species.  
\- Thank you for your time."  
End image description.]

"So, to get to the point," Gimli said, interrupting Boromir's thoughts. "What does this all mean? Dáin has had to refocus his efforts away from Mordor. And that's exactly what Mairon was waiting for. As soon as we took our eyes off him, all this mess broke out." He was paraphrasing from the slide now, his eyes flicking from person to person in the audience. So he  _did_  know what he was doing, after all.

"Erebor isn't involved with this mission in an  _official_  capacity, I have to admit," Gimli said, twiddling his thumbs. "But I can offer aid. My father is wealthy, and I'd be willing to reach out to him for aid, no matter if it hurts my pride. And Dáin may not be able to lend much, but he's a good man. He'll do what he can."

"I see you have a bit of a resume up there," Mithrandir said. "Axe proficiency, a silver tongue... And you speak of a quest."

"It's obvious," Gimli said. "Perhaps attacking Mordor outright is not the best solution, but  _something_  must be done. It's time for another quest. And I want to be part of it."

"Thank you, Master Gimli," Elrond said. "We will take your words into account."

"Thank  _you_ , my lord," Gimli said. He waved to the audience. "And to all you fine folk. Even that one elf that rubs me the wrong way—he knows who he is."

The crowd applauded heartily, fully charmed by the diplomat in disguise. Only Legolas remained still and sullen, not meeting Gimli's eyes as he returned to his seat. As soon as the dwarf sat down, he rose to his feet.

"I'd like to go next, if that's alright," he announced.

"Of course," Elrond agreed. "Arwen, if you would...?"

Arwen nodded, pulling up another presentation. As it appeared on the screen, Boromir rubbed his forehead. Oh, dear. This already looked bad.

[Image description: The title slide of a PowerPoint in the Office theme. The slide's background is entirely white. The title is centered and written in the most basic default font, reading "My presentation on this bullshit." Below that are the words in a smaller text size, "Click to add subtitle". End image description.]

"Pardon my Quenya," Legolas said, "but I feel like I speak for everyone when I call this all bullshit. Still, we've got to stop it, so here goes nothing."

[Image description: A body slide in the Office theme. Its background is also completely white. A title on the left side of the slide reads: "Hello, I am Legolas Greenleaf." Below that, with a circular bullet point, is the following body text:  
"- I was a barista in Dale until recently, when I met Boromir in my coffee shop. He then turned into an orc, which was out of the ordinary. Gimli knocked him out and he collapsed and stopped transforming. Then after that I called in my friend Tauriel, who is married to Gimli's cousin Kíli, and she came down to investigate. She's a cop. Boromir sort of explained what was going on. I hope this meeting will explain the rest of it."  
End image description.]

"My name is Legolas Greenleaf," he began. "Here's some quick background on me. I was a barista in Dale until recently..."

He went on to present in the same manner as Gimli had, only without the class and charm. Legolas acted like a sullen college student who had given up on passing a class.

"Boromir sort of explained what was going on," Legolas concluded. "I hope this meeting will explain the rest of it. Here's my summary of my journey so far."

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "So I came along." The body text reads as follows:  
"- Boromir needed someone to keep him safe while he drove to Rivendell and I wanted to quit my job. So I decided to go with him. My neighbor Gimli wanted to come along but we said no. He snuck into the truck and came along anyway. We were both pretty upset about that, understandably, I think. But eventually we started to get along."  
End image description.]

"So I came along." Legolas gestured to the new slide, reading off it. Beside Boromir, the "bearded gentleman" groaned.

"I'm sick of this," he muttered. "I thought this would be  _cool_."

"Sir," Boromir said, faking concern, "are you certain you're allowed to be at this meeting?"

"What—" squeaked the second voice from his midesction. His arm slapped his stomach, and the stomach shut up.

"Indigestion," the "human" man said with in a false growl. "You know how it be."

"And then we met Aragorn," Legolas said up on the stage.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "And then we met Aragorn." The body text reads as follows:  
"- Aragorn and I go way back. We went to IU together, we were roommates! So I was pretty surprised to see him in the road, trying to hitchhike to the nearest gas station. We stopped in the road and I got to catch up with my friend. He had a bunch of halflings in tow, which was interesting. I'd never met one before then, I like them. I helped Miss Frodo Baggins calm down and not transform because she got infected by the same virus as Boromir (I think.)"  
End image description.]

Boromir ignored his rambling, reaching over to take off the man's hat. "Don't you know it's rude to wear a hat indoors?" he asked.

The man yelped, reaching up with stubby arms to slam his hat back down on his head. "L-lice!" he stammered, but it was too late for his lie. Boromir had already seen the distinctive red curls atop his head, and his suspicions were confirmed.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "So that's all." The body text reads as follows:  
"- We're here now, which is a trip. Haha, that's a joke! Thanks for listening and looking at my presentation. I don't really know how to make a PowerPoint so this has really been a learning experience for me. Thanks everyone! Hope we can figure all this shit out before the world ends, or whatever."  
End image description.]

"And that about wraps it up," Legolas said. "Sorry these slides aren't fancy like everyone else's. We're here, and I am too, and that's the important part. I think. It's all such a  _trip_ —" He waited for everyone to laugh, and when no one did, he muttered, "That's a joke. Well, thanks for listening and looking at my presentation. I don't really know how to make a PowerPoint so this has really been a learning experience for me. Thanks everyone! Hope we can figure all this shit out before the world ends, or whatever."

A slow, sarcastic clap began with Gimli. Boromir, feeling bad for the lad, joined in at a more regular pace. Legolas began to walk back down, but Arwen interrupted him.

"Um, excuse me," she piped up. "There's one more slide, sir."

"Oh, yeah," Legolas said, walking back up.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "P.S." The body text reads as follows:  
"- Aragorn said I should mention it so: No, my dad is not going to help out with this mission. I haven't asked and I'm not going to and I'd like it if we didn't really talk about that part of my life, okay?"  
End image description.]

"P.S.," he read. "Aragorn said I should mention it, so: No, my dad is not going to help out with this mission. I haven't asked, and i'm not going to. Sorry. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Wait." Gimli frowned. "Who's your dad?"

"I  _said_ , I'd rather not talk about it," Legolas muttered, ending the slide show.

"He deserves to know, Legolas," Aragorn chided.

"It doesn't matter," Legolas insisted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I haven't talked to him in years."

"If you don't tell him, I will," Aragorn said firmly.

"Fine!" Legolas snapped. He sat back down next to Gimli, refusing to make eye contact. "Fine. My dad...My dad is King Thranduil of Greenwood. So there."

Boromir blinked. He hadn't known that, but...a few things clicked into place about Legolas's evasive answers to questions about his past, though there was still a lot left to be unpacked there.

"What?!" Gimli demanded.

Legolas scowled. "You heard me. My dad is Thranduil."

"You son of a—" Gimli cut himself off. "Are you fff...?! You kept that a secret all this time?"

"I don't owe you anything, dwarf!" Legolas growled. "I didn't need to—"

"Shush," Boromir interjected, glaring at them. "There's one more presentation. You can argue later."

Like an old married couple, Legolas and Gimli both harrumphed and pointedly ignored each other, focusing instead on Aragorn, who cleared his throat up on the stage.

[Image description: The title slide of a PowerPoint in the Savon theme. The slide's background is light blue with a flowery pattern. A dark blue rectangle is centered within this background, with a small medium blue rectangle in the top center of the larger rectangle. A thin, light blue line borders the interior of both rectangles. The title is centered within the larger rectangle, written in a flowing, dramatic font that emphasizes capital letters; it reads: "An account of the Ranger Estel's journey from Bree to Rivendell." Below that are the words "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger of the West, Heir to the Throne of Gondor" in small handwriting-esque font. End image description.]

"Estel?" Boromir wondered, not bothering to read the subtitle.

"It's a code name," Legolas whispered. "In Sindarin, it means—"

"Hope, yes, I know," Boromir said. "I speak Sindarin. But who needs  _that_  many names?"

"Have you heard the story of Túrin Turambar?" Legolas asked. Boromir rolled his eyes, then focused back up on the stage.

[Image description: A body slide in the Savon theme. Its background is dark blue; a thin white line borders the interior of the slide. A title at the top of the slide reads "Mithrandir contacts Estel" in the title font. Below that, with light blue circular bullet points, are the following words in the body text:  
"- Earlier this summer, I was contacted by Mithrandir about a danger lurking in the Shire.  
\- Naturally, I was apprehensive and offered to patrol around the area.  
\- Mithrandir kept in correspondence with me up until his capture in Isengard."  
End image description.]

"Earlier this summer," Aragorn began, "I was contacted by Mithrandir about a danger lurking in the Shire."

With dread, Boromir realized that he was going to read every word on the slide. No matter how aesthetically appealing the presentation was, it couldn't change the poor performance quality. Didn't these people know how to do this? Maybe Boromir was better at presentations than he gave himself credit.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "The journey". The body text reads as follows:  
"- I purchased a beat-up minivan in Rhûn; it took the better part of a week for me to travel to the Shire.  
\- For several months I hung around the Shire and its adjacent territories. Finally I received a frantic text from Mithrandir requesting me to meet up with a certain Frodo Baggins and her companion, Samantha Gamgee, and if necessary, escort the two of them to Bree where he would take over their guardianship."  
End image description.]

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Miss Frodo & Sam". The body text reads as follows:  
"-I realized immediately upon encountering Miss Baggins that she carried an item of extreme power, though I knew not what.  
\- Sam was endearingly faithful to her mistress, and I was touched by their devotion to each other. I quickly became fond of both hobbits."  
End image description.]

Aragorn droned on, narrating his presentation word-for-word. Talking about Frodo and Sam, Boromir noticed Frodo blushing noticeably on stage while Bilbo smiled fondly, sharing a knowing glance with his husband.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Merry and Pippin". The body text reads as follows:  
"- On the very first day of our travels together we picked up two hitchhikers.  
\- These were Misters Meriadoc Brandybuck and his friend Peregrin Took, a pair of young rascals. I am glad they are not present at this meeting, for I feel safe in admitting they tried my patience on numerous occasions. I only agreed because they are good kids at heart, and friends of Frodo and Sam."  
End image description.]

Upon reaching the part of the story where Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam met Merry and Pippin, the "bearded gentleman" muttered a curse under his breath. Literally—the expletive came from beneath the place where breath usually came out, right from the stomach.

"I imagine that wasn't how it went, hm?" Boromir remarked, leaning over next to the gentleman.

"Not at all!" he protested. "W—I mean, those two seem like responsible young lads, not, uh,  _rascals_!"

"I am glad they are not present at this meeting," Aragorn said to the amusement of the gathered elves, "for I feel safe in admitting they tried my patience on numerous occasions."

"See if we try your patience—!" growled the bearded gentleman's stomach, and he wavered in his standing position. He slapped his own stomach, glancing at Boromir nervously. Boromir pretended not to notice, though he couldn't get rid of the grin of amusement on his face.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Bree". The body text reads as follows:  
"- Unfortunately, Mithrandir (or Gandalf, as the hobbits know him) did not show up in the Prancing Pony at the arranged time. I could not get ahold of him via text, email, phone, or fax and soon realized that I had to move on quickly.  
\- That night, several insurance agents from Barad-dûr, Inc. appeared at the Prancing Pony Motel asking suspicious questions about stolen technology. It is rare to see such agents around so rural a town as Bree, and the nature of their questions raised my suspicions.  
\- Miss Frodo suffered a lapse of judgement and let it slip that she was in possession of a valuable artefact of technological capabilities; the agents (there were nine of them, in black suits and faces that were hard to remember) became excited and it was at that moment I knew we had to leave."  
End image description.]

"Valar almighty!" Boromir exclaimed, cringing. "My eyes!"

"What do you mean?" Gimli asked.

"That's just a wall of text—does he expect us to  _read_  that?" Boromir demanded.

"No,  _he'll_  read it," Gimli explained patiently. "That's how it works."

"Not if..." But he sighed, giving up. It would take an entire college course to teach these idiots how to build a good presentation, and they didn't have the time to stay at Imladris University for that long.

"Unfortunately, Mithrandir (or Gandalf, as the hobbits know him) did not show up in the Prancing Pony at the arranged time," Aragorn narrated. Boromir nodded impatiently, waiting for him to move on. "I could not get ahold of him via text, email, phone, or fax and soon realized that I had to move on quickly."

"I was occupied," Gandalf said drily.

"I understand," Aragorn said. "And I acted accordingly. That night, several insurance agents from Barad-dûr, Inc. appeared at the Prancy Pony Motel asking suspicious questions about stolen technology."

"Insurance agents, huh?" Legolas shook his head. "I'm glad I didn't go down that road after graduation. I could have done, too, with my economics degree."

"How many degrees do you have?!" Gimli demanded, breaking his furious silence for a moment, but Legolas continued to ignore him.

Aragorn had moved on to the next slide.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "Nine Riders at Amon Sûl". The body text reads as follows:  
"- We slipped away from the Prancing Pony that evening and made haste for a little hideout I had previously established in Amon Sûl ("Weathertop" as the hobbits call it).  
\- We arrived safely, but my van was slower than I would have liked. I soon realized that we were being followed by a biker gang. This alone would be a cause for concern, but it became apparent that the biker gang consisted of the same nine insurance agents, who were indeed up to something far shadier than simply investigating a theft."  
End image description.]

"We slipped away from the Prancing Pony..." Aragorn continued. Boromir paid attention for

part—he wanted to find out about those "Nine Riders" Aragorn kept referencing.

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "The Virus". The body text reads as follows:  
"- Frodo went out by herself for only a few minutes, and was ambushed by the insurance agents. The true identity of these Nine Riders ought to be obvious by now, but for the unlearned: they are clearly the same Lords of the Nazgûl that served Sauron under the thrall of the Nine Rings.  
\- Their dreadful spirits have been reawakened, and their rings morphed into earpieces that keep them in constant connection to Mordor. I had known for some time that Mairon, CEO of Barad-dûr, Inc., was truly the Dread Lord Sauron, but facing that reality shook me.  
\- The hobbits and I leapt to Frodo's defense as soon as we realized she was surrounded, but while we managed to fend the Nazgûl off and temporarily defeat them (through our wits and my prowess with the art of the sword and the gun), it was too late for Frodo. She had been infected by a mysterious virus and became catatonic."  
End image description.]

At last he got to the relevant part. "The true identity of these Nine Riders ought to be obvious by now, but for the unlearned—"

Boromir scowled. Aragorn had put that in there solely to antagonize him, and he knew it!

"—they are clearly the same Lords of the Nazgûl that served Sauron under the thrall of the Nine RIngs," Aragorn concluded.

"Ohh," Boromir realized. It made sense now—of course it was the Nazgûl. He hadn't remembered there was specifically nine of them, but he wasn't as "unlearned" as Aragorn thought he was!

"It was too late for Frodo," Aragorn said solemnly. He walked over and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder comfortingly. "She had been infected by a mysterious virus and became catatonic."

Frodo flinched away, hissing. "That's—that's my bad shoulder," she mumbled.

"Ooh," Aragorn hissed. "Sorry about that." He walked back over to the other side of the stage, clicking to the next slide. "In conclusion!"

[Image description: Another body slide. The title reads "In conclusion". The body text reads as follows:  
"- We escaped with our lives, but the minivan ran out of gas and we were forced to hitchhike our way to the gas station. Thankfully, the first truck we encountered was that of an old friend's (though I was at first horrified by the Barad-dûr logo on its trunk).  
\- Thus our story merged with that of Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli; I need not recount what has doubtless already been explained.  
\- I knew the day would come when I must take up arms against Sauron and fulfill my destiny as Heir of Gondor, and it is with a heavy heart that I now accept my destiny. If there is to be any quest to destroy Frodo's artifact and save the world, I must be a part of it."  
End image description.]

"Oh, thank Mahal," Gimli groaned. "I'm sick of sitting down."

Aragorn summarized their meeting with Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli, then sighed, straightening his spine. "I knew this day would come," he said, paraphrasing the words on the slide. "I do not wish to be a leader, nor a warrior in this deadly fight against Sauron. But it is my destiny, and I accept it. There has been talk of quests and destruction of the Flashdrive, and I agree it is necessary. If any such endeavour is to be attempted, I must be a part of it."

"As our leader?" Boromir challenged.

"Not unless I must." Aragorn stared him down. "Not on the journey, at least."

Boromir's eyes flicked across the final paragraph one more time. The words "Heir of Gondor" jumped out at him, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

"You—" he said in a strangled voice. "You would take my father's place! You would become King of Gondor!"

"If I must," Aragorn said solemnly. "Boromir, friend, I do not do this lightly. I have struggled for years—"

"Fuck your struggling!" Boromir shouted. The crowd of elves gasped, but Boromir was so angry that he didn't care. "My people have  _died_  in this battle—my  _mother_  died! My sister nearly lost her life! And you would take more from my father? He is a strong ruler! Gondor has no king—and needs none, neither!"

There was a stunned silence. Boromir's chest heaved, feeling his blood boil, his skin stretch—and though he could feel the transformation coming on, this time, he didn't care. He  _wanted_  to turn into an orc, he wanted to attack Aragorn and tear him limb from limb—

"Boromir." A cold voice cut across the room, breaking the tension. Trembling, Boromir looked up. Elrond had jumped down to stand before him, and outstretched a faintly glowing hand. "Boromir, I can help you."

Boromir growled, raising an arm that slowly began to morph and grow. "No," he growled. "That bastard—"

Elrond placed his hand on Boromir's shoulder, and a cool wave washed over him. He relaxed, falling back down into his seat. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, and he couldn't hold a thought in his mind for longer than a second. He felt someone pour a sweet, tangy liquid into his mouth, and the edges of his vision turned dark. He struggled to sit up, but exhaustion tied him to his seat and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you enjoyed, it really keeps me going!


	7. The Council of Elrond, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this earlier, but I kept forgetting! Oops! Here we are now :) Hope you enjoy!

When Boromir awoke, the lights of the auditorium had dimmed. Most of the elvish audience was gone, but the hall was not totally empty.

Legolas and Aragorn murmured to each other quietly, leaning over Arwen's shoulder as she typed away at her computer. Gimli pointedly ignored them, instead catching up with his cousin and Bilbo.

Elrond and Mithrandir stood, arms crossed, lecturing a mortified hobbit. It was Sam, hanging her head in shame while Frodo held her hand comfortingly. Boromir caught a few words of their conversation: "...knew you shouldn't have hid in the wings," scolded Elrond gently. "But I can forgive your attachment to Miss Baggins, if not your overprotective tendencies."

"Did you really think we wouldn't catch you?" Mithrandir tutted.

"Begging your pardon, Mister Gandalf, but you were the one who told me I oughtn't to leave Miss Frodo's side!" Sam pointed out.

"And you didn't catch her, she jumped out at you," Frodo said. "If Boromir hadn't—"

At the mention of his name, Boromir started, suddenly taking in his surroundings. He lay uncomfortably draped over two chairs, his neck stiff. Why had he fallen asleep in such a position...?

He blinked, remembering his collapse—they must have moved him while he was out—but things still didn't make sense. What was going on? Where had everyone gone? Where were Merry and Pippin?

Everyone turned to stare at him, and he realized that he'd said that last part aloud. Gimli rushed over to his side, clapping him on the shoulder, while Lord Elrond followed him at a more reasonable pace.

"Boromir! You gave us all a good scare there!" Gimli exclaimed. "Some warning, next time!"

"I..." Boromir frowned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up straight. "What happened?" he asked, massaging the ache in his neck.

"You almost turned," Elrond said. "I helped to calm you down, but when magic didn't work I slipped you some miruvor. It's one of the few things that can get elves  _very_  drunk, and most mortals—even the Dúnedain—pass out immediately."

"Huh," Boromir said. He smacked his lips: he could still taste the miruvor's tang, lingering on his tongue. "My—my apologies. I must have truly made a fool of myself, and of Gondor."

"You are not the only representative of Gondor," Aragorn said mildly. "Our homeland is in the hearts of the elves here, do not worry."

Boromir bit back a retort, not wanting to relapse. "Where are Merry and Pippin?" he repeated instead. "They were here earlier—I don't see them around."

"They weren't here," Sam said. "I snuck in myself, but they weren't with me. Honest, my lord!" she added when Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"No, they were," Boromir said. "In the trenchcoat—couldn't you all tell? The bearded gentleman beside me? What sort of elf has a beard?"

Legolas's mouth flopped open. "That was—but I assumed it was some Ranger!"

"I thought..." Arwen frowned. "I suppose I didn't think."

"But neither of them are that tall," Thorin protested.

Boromir rolled his eyes impatiently. "It's the oldest trick in the book. If I hadn't been so absorbed in the council I would have noticed immediately. They stand on each other's shoulders and drape a trenchcoat around them—strap on a fake beard and grab a hat—"

"Of fucking course they did," Gimli muttered under his breath. "That's why they weren't sitting down! Must've killed poor Merry's shoulders to hold Pippin up for so long!"

"I think Merry was on the top, actually," Boromir said with a chuckle. "He's a bit lighter...and it was probably his idea."

"Was  _not_!" Pippin exclaimed, bursting out of the wings of the stage, his arms crossed. "Was  _my_  idea! He only said we could do it because I told him he'd be on top!"

" _Pip_ ," Merry groaned, walking out after him. He still wore the trenchcoat, the sleeves fallen down over his hands and its tail trailing on the ground. The fake beard hung from his neck; Pippin had stolen the hat. "Come  _on_!"

"What?" Pippin elbowed him. "They already figured it out. But I  _told_  you it was a good idea, only Boromir noticed and it took him  _forever_!"

"I cannot believe we fell for that," Aragorn muttered, rubbing his head.

"To be fair, you had a lot to think about," Arwen said kindly, resting a hand on his shoulder for just a second too long. A glare from her father made her let go of him, and she blinked innocently.

"Next time you should just let us in!" Merry scolded. "We wouldn't have to resort to such  _desperate_  measures, and you could hear all of our brilliant ideas!"

"You mean  _my_  brilliant ideas," Pippin corrected.

"I do  _not_!"

"This is just what I was afraid of," Mithrandir groaned.

"We do have good ideas, though," Merry said earnestly. "That poem, for instance, in Boromir's email?  _Definitely_  a coded message."

"Thanks," Boromir said in a voice laden with sarcasm. "I hadn't figured that one out yet."

"But you haven't," Merry insisted. "You don't know what it means. I've got an idea, and with all of us here we can certainly decipher it!"

"I'll pull it back up," Arwen said, returning to her computer.

"Where did everyone else go?" Boromir asked, looking around.

"After we subdued you, we called the Council to an end," Elrond said. "The folk of Rivendell have learned enough, and I will let them contemplate and get back to me. For now, only those who are closest to the affair need to be here."

"I've got it," Arwen announced. The slide appeared back on the screen.

[Image description: A body slide in the Parallax scene. Instead of any text, this slide features a screenshot of an email. The email has a white background. The title reads "omen" in a basic font; beside it is a marker that indicates this message is in the inbox. Below the title is the sender information: "anonymous xxdrmlrd.004 " and below that are the words "to me". Beside the sender information is a gray octagon with a red question mark inside it. The body of the email is as follows:  
"seek for the truth that was broken:  
in the hidden vale it dwells;  
there shall be counsels taken  
stronger than sickness and spells.  
there shall be shown a token  
that Doom is near at hand,  
for Isildur's Bane shall waken  
and the nine heroes then shall stand."  
Below this text are two boxes; one has the text "Reply" with an arrow pointing left, and the other has the text "Forward" with an arrow pointing right. End image description.]

"'Hidden vale' is Rivendell," Boromir said. "That's how I knew to come here. 'Sickness and spells' is doubtless the virus. The rest seems fairly obvious—we've taken counsels and we've seen the 'token', the Flashdrive."

"And Isildur's Bane is the Ring," Aragorn murmured. "Again, the Flashdrive."

"You're missing something  _obvious_ ," Merry scoffed.

"Yeah!" Pippin interrupted. "You named your operation 'Broken Truth' but didn't even think about that part!"

"That isn't—" Merry protested.

"That just means lies," Boromir dismissed. "Barad-dûr has been lying to all of us."

"Some of us were clever enough to be wary of them, at least," Legolas muttered.

"It's easy for you in Mirkwood to be wary," Boromir snapped. "When you're in Gondor, in Osgiliath, you have to deal with the  _realities_  in front of you. My father and his fathers had their suspicions but we couldn't act on them without any proof!"

"Gentlemen," Elrond interrupted. "We are all on the same side here. If our Doom is indeed 'near at hand', the free-peoples of Middle-earth must work together."

"Who's not a free-people?" Sam asked.

"The orcs," Gimli said. "Didn't you hear Boromir? They're enslaved to Sauron."

Merry tried to cut in again: "Okay, yes, but—"

"And goblins," Bilbo added. "On our quest, we fought goblins in the Misty Mountains."

"There aren't many goblins left," Thorin agreed, "but their remnants are formidable. They are descendents of orcs from ages past, when Sauron controlled them solely with his evil magics."

"Hey! Y'all!" Merry shouted. Everyone turned to face him. He stood with his arms crossed and his face cross. "Okay, you listening now?"

"Yes, Merry," Pippin groaned.

"The real thing nobody's talked about is the last line," Merry said, pointing up at the screen. " _And the nine heroes then shall stand._  There's nine Black Riders, right? Well, that means we've got to have nine heroes to face off with 'em!"

"Hmm," Mithrandir said, tugging on his beard. "Well...that's an idea."

"You may be onto something, Master Brandybuck," Elrond said slowly. "But I don't think the solution is to fight the Nazgûl directly. If Boromir is correct, Sauron has an army of orcs at his service as well, and we cannot rely on support from Saruman any longer."

"What do you suggest, then?" Frodo asked.

Elrond bowed his head. "The only way to destroy the Ring—and therefore, the Flashdrive—is to melt it in the forges where it was created. Someone must take it into the depths of Mordor, to Mount Doom, and destroy it."

There was a heavy silence. Boromir rubbed the bridge of his nose, barely believing what he could hear. He had escaped Mordor only to learn that they needed to go  _back_?

"Can you hear what you're saying, my lord?" he said in a strangled voice. "I said it earlier—you can't just  _walk_  into Mordor! My escape was calculated and close, and I came out of there infected. The security is impeccable, the corporate politics are vicious, the resources are endless—!"

"Nonetheless, we must destroy it," Mithrandir said solemnly. "Lord Elrond is right."

"Can we not hide it away?" Legolas asked, looking at Frodo nervously. "It worked for a whole age. Mirkwood is impenetrable to an outsider—

"And yet Dol Guldur has been infested with goblins and spiders and wildmen time and time again," Mithrandir pointed out.

"Erebor hides many secret treasures!" Gimli boasted. "Surely we—"

"No, lad," Thorin rumbled. "The Arkenstone is powerful enough. Adding another powerful treasure to that hoard is enough to draw another dragon down upon the mountain, or cause a civil war from goldsickness."

"I saw Gollum," Bilbo warned. "And I held it myself for years. I know better than anyone how hard it is to hide that thing. Everyone will succumb to its thrall eventually. I barely escaped."

"If this thing is so powerful," Boromir said, eyes narrowed, "then why should we not turn it against Sauron? If he can use it as a weapon, so could we. My sister is an expert hacker. She could take the code on here and reverse the virus, or turn the orcs against Barad-dûr—"

"Have you heard a word we've said?" inquired Aragorn. "This object  _corrupts_. It is worse than the allure of power. It has a mind of its own. Surely you can feel it, as one infected with the virus! I am not, and I know  _I_  can."

"It is a waste of resources—" Boromir began, but he broke off, staring at Frodo. She looked up at him with wide, solemn eyes, and something inside him felt ashamed. She was the one carrying the Flashdrive. She had the virus, just like him. Aragorn was right—he could feel the virus bubbling in his veins, even at his most controlled, and it was only worse in this room with that cursed object.

"We must make the decision that will defeat Sauron," Elrond said. "If we weaponize the Flashdrive, we risk losing control and making things worse. It is not only our lives at stake if things go wrong, but the fate of all Middle-earth."

"Then we must destroy it," Frodo said quietly, staring at the innocent-seeming flashdrive in her hand.

"Nine heroes shall stand!" Merry insisted.

"Yeah," Pippin agreed. "The nine smartest, bravest,  _coolest_  hobb—I mean, people—around!"

"That rules  _you_  out, Pip," Merry said snarkily, elbowing his friend.

" _Hey_!" Pippin shoved him back, and Boromir had to step between them to stop their scuffle.

"No hobbits should go on this journey to Mordor," Elrond disagreed. "The nine folks we choose must be experienced fighters with skill and diplomacy. I can call upon my greatest elven warriors—Erestor and my twins, perhaps. And Glorfindel—he has bested a Balrog."

"Yeah, right, like we're going to run into a Balrog," Mithrandir scoffed. "Sending Erestor and Glorfindel on a quest like this is just begging for attention, and we must be undercover if we are to sneak into Mordor."

"Father, you know I love Elladan and Elrohir," Arwen said, mouth twitching in a smile, "but they are not the most diplomatic."

"Then who would you suggest?" Elrond huffed, crossing his arms.

"Excuse me, my lord," Gimli said modestly, "but I believe I gave an entire presentation on the assets I could bring to just this kind of endeavour. After all, this impacts all of Middle-earth, not just elvenkind."

"Of course," Elrond said. "Yes, well, you would be a worthy candidate, Master Gimli."

"I need to be involved," Boromir said. "Even if I was not otherwise qualified, which I am, I have inside information on Barad-dûr."

"You know I must go, my lord," Aragorn added. "I must protect Gondor, and it would be wise to stop there before we traverse Mordor."

"Obviously we'll go to Gondor first," Boromir interjected. "My father the Steward needs to know what's going on, and we can't trust technological ways to contact him."

"I look forward to meeting your father the Steward," Aragorn said coolly, looking Boromir in the eyes. "I am sure he is a great man."

Boromir glared, but their silent feud was interrupted by a heavy sigh from Legolas.

"You know, I didn't want to, but anything beats working as a barista," he said glumly. "I'll go, too. You don't have any elves, and it's not like I'm famous yet. No one'll recognize me."

"Of course, your Highness," Gimli said sardonically. "Would you like us to carry you on a palanquin all the way to Mordor?"

Legolas didn't respond, but Boromir could see anger flashing in his eyes. Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder, bracing him.

"That's only five, then," Mithrandir said, counting on his fingers.

"No it's not," Pippin said. "I may be an idiot, but I can count to four!"

"I thought it went without saying that I was leading the quest," Mithrandir said modestly.

Bilbo snorted. "Like you led the Quest for Erebor?"

"Bilbo!" Thorin exclaimed. " _I_  led that quest! Gandalf was a guest; he left when it suited him."

"Mm _hmm_ ," Bilbo said, unconvinced by his husband's complaint.

"Who's going to carry the Flashdrive?" asked Elrond. "It is a heavy burden, not for the weak of heart."

No one volunteered.

"I will," Frodo said softly.

"No," Bilbo whispered.

"I must," Frodo said, smiling sadly to her uncle. "It has been my lot thus far, and I alone can carry it."

"Frodo, lass, you don't have to," Thorin said. He and Bilbo embraced her, murmuring their worries, but Frodo pushed them aside.

"I will do it," she announced. "I will take the Flashdrive to Mordor."

Elrond sighed. "If you are truly determined, Mistress Baggins, I must allow you. You will have many companions to aid and protect you, and you are right—it has become your burden."

"If Miss Frodo's going, then I'm going too," Sam announced, taking her place at Frodo's side. "I'm not leaving her."

Elrond opened his mouth, but thought better of it. "Very well," he said. "That leaves two places yet. I still think the twins would—"

"I could go," Arwen interrupted. "I'm more than capable."

"No," Elrond said firmly.

"But, Father—"

"I do not doubt your prowess and poise, Arwen," Elrond said, "but there are other things that...concern me." He laid a long, unfriendly stare upon Aragorn. Boromir watched him intently, but the ranger didn't so much as blink.

"Fine," Arwen snapped. She turned off her computer and stormed out of the room. "You may regret that later, Father!"

"That is exactly...!" Elrond shook his head. "Nevermind. You are not here to witness my familial drama."

"You can't send the lads and not her," Mithrandir pointed out.

"I don't know why you're ignoring the obvious," Merry said. "Pip and I are obviously coming along."

"No, you're not," Aragorn said automatically. "You don't bring anything to the table."

"Ouch!" Pippin placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "What about w—" He glanced at Elrond nervously. "What about our, uh, sparkling wit?"

"You definitely don't have that," Boromir muttered. When Pippin turned to glare at him, he winked.

"If you don't let us come, we'll hitchhike along," Merry said. "Or we'll pull a Gimli and sneak into Boromir's truck!"

"Well, I don't know if it's a good idea for us to take the truck," Boromir said. "It can't fit everyone."

"I'll fix it up," Mithrandir dismissed. "Don't even worry about it."

"We'll find a way to come," Pippin promised. "Whether you want us to or not!"

"I say let them come," Boromir said, nodding to Pippin. "They're serious about sneaking along, and I think it'll do them good."

"Boromir, they're children," Mithrandir protested.

"I'll have you know that I am thirty-six!" Merry insisted. "I've been an adult for three years!"

Boromir blinked. "What?" he asked, but no one acknowledged his confusion.

"Besides, I'll be an adult soon," Pippin said confidently. "Frodo's  _ancient_ , she's got one foot in the grave, and you're letting her come along!"

"It's not polite to discuss a lady's age," Frodo said, smirking.

"The rest of the council will never agree," Elrond grumbled.

"So don't give them the chance," Aragorn suggested. "Let's leave tomorrow morning. The sooner we get started, the sooner we finish."

"You're not seriously on board with this!" Mithrandir exclaimed. "You were just saying—"

"This way we can keep an eye on them," Aragorn reasoned, "and we can leave them in Gondor. They don't have to come all the way to Mordor."

"We will," Merry said, "but we can talk about that later."

"Yeah, you'll need us if you want to blow up Barad-dûr's headquarters," Pippin said confidently.

"What?!" Sam exclaimed.

"Just an idea." Pippin batted his eyelashes innocently.

"If everyone is in agreement?" Aragorn said. "The nine heroes shall be myself, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Mithrandir, Frodo, Sam, and...Merry and Pippin."

Everyone raised their hand except for Mithrandir. After a few moments, he scowled, then shoved his hand in the air. "Fine," he grumbled.

"Then you are serious about leaving tomorrow, then?" Elrond said. "The Council will never approve this."

"Do you?" Boromir asked.

Elrond spread his hands. "I doubt we will find a group that the Council  _does_  approve. We must act now, while we have the upper hand."

"Excellent," Mithrandir said. "Boromir, I'll take a look at that truck of yours. We can use the camouflage that a Barad-dûr vehicle will give us."

"Uh...sure," Boromir said, though he hadn't the faintest idea of what Mithrandir thought he could do to it to make it fit nine people (even if five of them were smaller than he was).

As everyone broke away to begin preparations for tomorrow's journey, Elrond pulled Frodo and Boromir aside.

"I need to talk to you two," he said. "Please, follow me to my office."

Sam started to tag along, but Frodo shook her head. "No, Sam, it's alright," she said. "I'll be fine. Go grab something to eat, I know you're hungry."

"Alright, Miss Frodo," Sam agreed reluctantly. "I'll see you later."

Boromir walked after Elrond warily. The office was only a few doors down from the theater; Frodo shut the door behind her softly as Elrond gestured for them to sit.

"Master Boromir," Elrond said, steepling his fingers. "You stated earlier that you came to Rivendell seeking my aid with your...condition."

"I did say that," Boromir said slowly.

"Considering Mistress Baggins is facing similar circumstances, I thought I could speak to you together," Elrond explained.

"About what?" asked Frodo.

"Boromir came looking for my aid with the virus," Elrond said. "I wish I could tell you two that I can cure you, or keep your illness at bay. Alas—I do not know enough about the nature of the disease to do so. I assure you both that this is a matter of extreme importance to me and my colleagues, and we will work tirelessly until we can fully care for you to the best of our ability."

Elrond took a deep breath. "Ideally, we would try to treat you here, in Rivendell. Some of the best doctors in the world are in residence in the hidden vale or on campus, but your quest to destroy the Flashdrive is vitally important, and we are relying on your success to save all of Middle-earth."

"So you can't do anything for us?" Frodo asked, fear seeping into her voice.

"I did not say that," Elrond assured. "From what we have gathered from the episodes of transformation that Boromir has suffered and those he has avoided, I must deduce that the best way to manage this affliction is through mental control. Breathing, calming your emotions, or—at a last resort—unconsciousness."

"Well, we'll have Legolas to help us," Boromir pointed out.

Elrond frowned. "Legolas is untrained. His grasp on magic is...slight. Tenuous. I would not rely on his, especially when you can help yourselves. What if you were separated from him?"

Boromir inclined his head. "Of course," he murmured.

"Boromir, do you have a diagnosis of anxiety, or a history of hyper-aggression?" Elrond inquired.

He blinked. "Uhh...no. Why do you ask?"

"If you had come to me without the virus, acting the way you are, I would suggest you seek therapy for such a condition." Elrond leaned forward in his chair. "As it is, perhaps such emotional distress is a symptom of the virus. You yourself said that heightened emotions can trigger transformation."

"So we should learn to control our feelings," Frodo summarized.

Boromir turned to her. "You've only had one episode, Miss Baggins," he pointed out. "What has your experience been like?"

She shivered, looking down. "I...I was stabbed. Things went...dark—I could feel my skin, uh...boiling. Stretching. I don't—" She broke off, taking a ragged breath. "I don't think I transformed all the way. I hid away, and—Strider found me. He...I don't remember. I think I fell asleep at that point, and I didn't wake back up until we got here."

Boromir nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. His own infection had been something like that, but Frodo for whatever reason had not succumbed and transformed. Not even Frodo could relate to his experience—and what did that say of him, a man of Númenorean stock, that he was weak enough to turn but a simple hobbit was not?

"My lord," Boromir began slowly, "this—condition I find myself in...If I could learn to control the virus, could I use it as a sort of disguise? If we could infiltrate Barad-dûr—"

"No," Elrond interrupted firmly. "I understand you, Boromir. You are a spy, an agent of Gondor. You use the tools at hand. But it is far too risky. What if you were caught? Your sister has already suffered injury, and you are a great leader to your country, as well as the fellowship we have so recently joined together."

"Am I?" Boromir said bitterly. "With Aragorn—" He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. "I apologize. There go my emotions again, getting the better of me."

Elrond reached over and grasped his arm. "But you recognized it. You are coping. You are growing—and that is a sign of a strong mind, Boromir."

"Strider respects you, Mister Boromir," Frodo piped up. "I am not certain of the nature of your rivalry—I am not certain of much, if I am honest. But I know that he does not wish you any harm or disgrace. He would appreciate your cooperation, if not your friendship."

Boromir bowed his head. "My thanks, Miss Baggins," he said gruffly.

"Now," Elrond said briskly, "let me show you some breathing exercises, and I will walk you through meditation..."

* * *

The next day dawned cold and gray. Boromir had slept little that evening, a hum of anxiety disturbing him all night long. Only the techniques Elrond had taught him and Frodo kept him from orcing out.

Breathing, mindfulness, meditation, talking through your feelings—it was a condensed therapy session, and Boromir resented it. He'd never had such struggles before, and even if he could keep the virus at bay in his body, it was ever-present in his head. It was as if there was a constant murmur in the Black Speech in the back of his mind, taunting him, goading him. It was impossible to shake entirely.

His gloomy mood was lightened only by Merry and Pippin. The two young hobbits pranced around him excitedly, chattering away as if it wasn't six o'clock in the morning. Boromir had developed a certain fondness for the lads, and he couldn't help but smile at their jokes and jibes.

Mithrandir's magical might was truly a mystery to Boromir. The Grey Wizard had worked his enchantments on the Barad-dûr truck, not only refurbishing the paint but expanding the seats well into the cargo trunk. On the outside it looked normal, but on the inside there was plenty of space for all nine members of what Elrond had dubbed "The Fellowship of the Flashdrive."

Few people came to see them off—only Elrond and his daughter. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin had already clambered into the truck when Elrond called Mithrandir, Legolas, Frodo, and Boromir over. Sam trotted along behind her mistress, while Aragorn slipped away to whisper sweet nothings to Arwen.

"I have taught Boromir and Frodo some techniques to handle their condition," Elrond informed Mithrandir. "We know that unconsciousness works as a last resort, but I worry about brain damage that could occur from relying to much on that method."

"I suppose I..." Legolas began, but he trailed off as Elrond shook his head.

"They cannot rely on you," he said. "Your magic, weak as it is—and I mean no offense, your Highness—"

"Don't call me that." Legolas scowled. "And yeah, I know. I flunked my Healing 101 class."

"Your magic can only do so much." Elrond pulled out two silver flasks from his coat pocket, handing one to Frodo and the other to Boromir. "This contains miruvor."

"Why are you giving them booze but not me?" Legolas complained.

"It will knock them out, not intoxicate them," Elrond said with a sigh. "They are mortal, Legolas. Remember that."

"I thought you said you didn't want us to rely on unconsciousness," Frodo said doubtfully, inspecting the flask. She handed it to Sam, who stowed it away.

"It is a last resort," Elrond explained. "Only use it if Legolas cannot aid you, and if you have no other options. One mouthful will do the trick."

"I can aid them if I must," Mithrandir rumbled, "but you are correct, Lord Elrond. This is a better solution. I cannot be everywhere at once."

"And your power is not meant for mortals," Elrond agreed.

"I know how to handle myself, Elrond!" Mithrandir huffed. "I have been in Middle-earth for thousands of years—"

"And I've been here longer," Elrond said calmly. "You spent most of the Ages in the West." A bell rang in the hidden vale. He looked behind himself nervously. "The council will convene soon," he said. "I must attend to them, and try to explain what we have done."

"Tell them only half-truths," Mithrandir warned. "They will not like what they hear, and we cannot risk word getting out, even accidentally."

"May the Valar bless your travels," Elrond said. He bowed to them, then strode briskly away. "Arwen!" he called over his shoulder. "Come! We have work to do!"

Boromir shook the flask of miruvor, sighing. He stuffed it into his backpack, then trudged over to the driver's seat of the truck. Everyone else situated themselves, and he turned around to face them.

"Ready to get going?" he asked, forcing an upbeat tone into his voice.

"I need to pee," Pippin complained.

Sam groaned. "No, you don't. We're ready, sir."

He wondered if they truly were. They had a long journey ahead, and the road to Mordor was paved with trials and tribulations. At least he had hobbits to lift his spirits.

Boromir smiled grimly, then turned the ignition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to update monthly...? But don't get too set on that, cuz life is whack. Comments inspire me to keep writing~ (and if you want to go the extra mile, check out my tumblr where there's a neat little button in the bottom left corner that will let you give me a few bucks!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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